


Hegemony

by TeaWithNyarlathotep



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Evil Alternate Universe, Fantasy, Gen, Mirror Universe, Multi, Parental Abuse, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 126,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaWithNyarlathotep/pseuds/TeaWithNyarlathotep
Summary: In another Etheria, not too different from the one we have come to know and love, the rebellious Horde battles the Princess Hegemony for dominance over Etheria. The plucky rogue Catra and her allies must face off against the imperial force of the Hegemony in a losing war, and save Etheria, but in this different world, everyone is playing their own game... and it is only a matter of time before they start breaking the pieces.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra), Kyle/Lonnie/Rogelio (She-Ra)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 56





	1. Mirror, Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was pointed out rather helpfully by a comment that this fic used the term "golem," a term important to Jewish communities, to refer to the totalitarian Hegemony's crystalline foot soldiers. In recognition of this obvious error, we of TeaWithNyarlathotep have chosen to amend our terminology and to alter the term to the more thematically accurate and less offensive "geodites." Those offended have our sincerest apologies; it was at no point our intention to offend anyone.

They called it the Fright Zone, but it wasn’t that frightening.

Sure, it was a mess of technology, every part of it moving constantly. Sure, it operated in disarray, and the cadets slept in mediocre bunks. Oh, and the stench of molten metal and the sound of robots were so thick that you had to get used to them to sleep, but the Fright Zone was a decent enough place to live. You got fed, even if it was ration bars, you had friends, even if you knew deep down they hated you. You even got a mom, even if she told you you were worthless at least once a week.

Catra sighed. It seemed she wasn’t making herself too happy. She fiddled her thumbs, and shook her head. She couldn’t sleep.

It was tempting to wake Adora, but she knew Adora was already asleep. It’d be cruel to break that. Catra hadn’t slept in a few days. Shadow Weaver had been chided by Hordak three times this week. Apparently, she had been funneling resources into her dark magic programs and had been neglecting the logistics for the robotic troops.

And worse, the Hegemony had the Sword.

Hordak had been absolutely fuming about that damn Sword. He had stomped all around his throne room, called everyone there, and he had practically destroyed his own throne. He repeated incomprehensible ramblings about heaven and suffering, and he yelled so loudly he struggled to breathe after. It didn’t help that Catra had snuck some food into the throne room, which Shadow Weaver was quick to confiscate and present to Lord Hordak as proof that Catra was a problem child.

Catra wished Shadow Weaver would decide. She was a bright young lady when Shadow Weaver wanted to degrade her on grounds of immaturity, but she was a problem child whenever she was trouble. Was she a kid or an adult? She sighed. She knew there was no proper answer.

A four-legged, spherical robot wandered by her, and sat down. She looked at it for a second, into its red eye. This was what they were sending at the Hegemony every day. A few tanks, sure, but they were running out of time and resources. Horde currency wasn’t accepted by the traders in the Crimson Waste anymore, ever since the Princesses destroyed that shanty town. They hadn’t killed anyone, as was the agreement, but the message was clear. Nobody, nobody dealt to the Evil Horde.

They called them the Evil Horde; even Lord Hordak and Shadow Weaver were known to slip up and call it that on occasion. The Fright Zone was the last true refuge from the Hegemony. Of course, it didn’t help that Hordak only decided to get out of his sanctum when he wanted to yell about something. Not a fan of getting fresh air, that one.

The force field around the Fright Zone’s barriers flickered. It was projected by technological wizardry. Nothing, Shadow Weaver always said, compared to actual, proper magic, but it did the job. The Hegemony hadn’t gotten into the Fright Zone yet.

A force of geodites always surrounded the Fright Zone, animated by the mages of Mystacor. Catra sighed. She couldn’t take this anymore.

She tapped Adora’s shoulder. Adora woke with a start, nearly leaping from her bed. Catra shushed her with a hand to her mouth. For a few seconds, Catra worried that Adora would shriek and wake the whole barracks. Thankfully, Adora nodded. The two took the ladder upward, arriving atop the rectangular building.

Adora, as always, brought a map and a flashlight. She had a knack for this sort of thing. She loved maps, Adora; Shadow Weaver had always said she had a keen mind. Catra was better with them, of course, but she knew better than to try and one-up the golden child. She sneered momentarily, before returning to a smile.

“Hey, Adora,” she said.

“Hi,” Adora responded, laying out the map. With a click, she lit the flashlight. She set it down, illuminating the map.

To the west, in the distance, on another continent entirely, there it was. Bright Moon, the capital of the Hegemony. It was a mighty city, and near it was Mystacor, the floating isle of the mages. They were growing in number, always growing in number. Any child with magical potential, they animated. The barrier flickered again, still red. Sooner or later, the power would give out, and they would all be prisoners of the Princess Hegemony.

Expanding around the entire ocean was Salineas’s Sea Wall. It had once been merely a gate, but now it was a massive series of gates. It completely stopped any ship that wasn’t directly approved from going through it. Summoned leviathans prowled the sea, swallowing the Horde’s every last ship. Salineas was a massive ring, built around both of Etheria’s major continents.

To the north, the Kingdom of Snows. Castle Chill was the seat of Princess Frosta, calmest and most dangerous among them. Catra shuddered at the thought of facing her.

A land bridge bonded the two continents. Older maps had entirely different geography, but Catra knew exactly what had happened. Once, the Horde had more of the world, the Fright Zone expanding. During negotiations with Empress Angella, Hordak had asked to evacuate the Hegemony citizens from those territories and officially deem them territory of the Horde.

Angella had nodded. They had seemed to have an agreement. Then, King Micah went missing. The Hegemony citizens were evacuated; the land the Horde once had, the five-year-old Princess Mermista and Empress Angella tore from them and sunk deep into the ocean. Then, Angella had tried to kill him for good measure.

Catra sighed. Of course, there were the elusive mountaintops of Dryl, the forests of Plumeria by the Whispering Woods. As one would expect, Netossa and Spinnerella’s small, distant Kingdom, its name unknown to all but them, had also sworn fealty to the Hegemony. There was no choice in the matter, obviously.

Dryl remained neutral, because nobody was sure anyone was alive up there. It was also guarded by the most advanced pair of giant robots Etheria had ever known, the Colossi, which Catra figured helped with security.

“What’re you thinking?” Adora asked.

“I wanna walk right into Bright Moon and tear that crown off Empress Angella’s head.”

“Rough.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” she asked. “I don’t wanna be here forever, Adora. I don’t wanna sit here and let them starve us out. You hear Force Captain Scorpia whispering about what’s going on? It sounds like we’re running out of the material for ration bars.”

Adora shrugged. “We could always run off to the Hegemony if things get tough.”

The two shared a look. Catra squinted intensely. Then Adora punched her in the arm. It hurt a little, but Catra tried to hide the pain. The two laughed, even as Catra felt her arm bruise. Immediately, Adora noticed.

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening. “I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s nothing,” Catra said.

“No, that’s something. That’s really something, Catra, I didn’t--”

“It’s _fine_!” Catra snapped.

Adora reeled back a little. It was funny. Catra was pretty sure her little freakout had hurt Adora more than Adora’s punch had hurt her. Adora was pretty strong, but Catra’s voice was as sharp as a whip and twice as deadly.

“Sorry,” she muttered under her breath.

Adora’s expression lightened. She shook her head. “No need to be,” she said.

Catra shuffled apprehensively. “Starve us out?” Adora asked. “They won’t need to if they’ve really got the Sword.”

“Yeah,” Catra said, curling up. “You think they’ll just blow down the barrier? I’ve heard that thing’s strong.”

“Nah,” Adora said. “Even they can’t do that. It’s been, what, two years?”

Catra knew better. The barrier would fall soon anyways. Everything was lost; the Hegemony already had an advantage in the field of battle. Whether the barrier fell or the Horde surrendered, they would claim the Fright Zone. Shadow Weaver had been encouraging Lord Hordak to write up terms of surrender for months now.

Hordak wasn’t doing much lately. Last time Catra had seen him, he’d been plugged full of cables in his sanctum. He had been talking to Shadow Weaver about how she needed to provide him a new Force Captain soon, or he would run out of commanders. Shadow Weaver had made it frankly obvious she saw Adora as being suited for the role.

“You’re looking mopey,” Adora said.

“I’m fine,” Catra responded. “I’m just thinking.”

“You do think a lot. You’re pretty smart.”

“Yeah, that’s us. Real brains and brawn pair.”

“You think I’m just brawn?”

Catra turned to her. She sputtered a couple times, and then Adora laughed again. She pressed her hands to Catra’s cheeks, and squished them. Catra purred gently in her hands, and then pushed her arms away.

“We need to _do_ something,” Catra said. “We can’t keep waiting. The troops are losing morale. Hordak’s angsting in his lab.”

Her eyes lit up.

“I know,” Catra said. “It’s not pulling the crown off Angella’s head, but I know exactly how we can bring some spirit back! We could maybe even win the battle.”

Catra slipped back down into the barracks, leaving Adora waiting atop the barracks. Quietly, she snuck Kyle’s datapad, which he held tight, from his arms. He snored intensely, but Catra succeeded in her minute theft. She opened up the datapad, and looked through the files on the Sword of Power. At last, she found what she wanted.

“Tonight!” she loudly whispered to Adora.

“What’s tonight?” Adora asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Tonight, the Sword of Power is going through the Whispering Woods.”

“How’d we get that info?” Adora asked.

“I don’t know,” Catra admitted. “Still, this is important.”

“It could be a trap,” Adora responded.

Catra turned to her. She pressed a hand to Adora’s knuckles. Adora looked toward the dirty ground of the Fright Zone, the robots wandering out.

“We could get into huge trouble,” Adora said. “What if we get captured by the Hegemony? Or worse… what if we get caught sneaking out by Shadow Weaver?”

Catra shook her head. “What if we get the Sword, Adora? Shadow Weaver would be overjoyed. Hordak would come out of his lab.”

“Yeah?” Adora asked, furrowing her brow. “You really think it’s worth the risk?”

“Of _course_ it’s worth the risk,” Catra said. “We just have to steal a speeder, track the Sword’s energy signature, take out everyone guarding it, including possibly Princesses, and… yeah, this sounds like a bad idea now, but the risk-reward ratio’s pretty good. They would think we were heroes!”

“We should get Lonnie, Kyle, Rogelio. I can tell Force Captain Scorpia--”

“Not a chance,” Catra said. “This has to be _ours._ ”

“Okay, but if we just go in without any preparation, we’re not gonna make it. Catra, please, you’re not talking sense.”

“Sense?” Catra asked. “Adora, you know what doesn’t make sense? Sitting here while the Hegemony’s got an utter advantage and has a weapon that could end this conflict in a day. We could honestly win this one. We can’t sit it out just because we might get in trouble. If they get the Sword of Power to Bright Moon, it won’t _matter_ whether we’re in hot water with Shadow Weaver or not because we’ll be prisoners at best and _dead_ at worst!”

“I get it,” Adora said. “I don’t… I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be safer to let Hordak and Shadow Weaver come up with something? Or at least get some help?”

“This is our mission,” Catra repeated. “If we get someone else to help they might report on us to Shadow Weaver. They could ruin the whole thing.”

“I don’t think Lonnie would do that.”

Catra sighed. Adora didn’t understand the nature of the Horde; she thought they were best friends. In the end, though, Catra knew. She knew that when it came down to it, this was everyone for themself. She saw the sideways glances those three gave her. She knew that deep down, they would see her exiled to Beast Island if it was convenient for them.

Ambition was everything in the Fright Zone. Adora had never been too ambitious for herself. It was always other people’s problems she wanted to help with, never a look at her own. Catra despised it. Sure, that was nice on her part, but a little selfishness would be what the doctor ordered.

It was a long time since there had been a doctor in the Fright Zone. Something about doing no harm, they had said. So Catra had patched herself up with stolen bandages, and she had kept on her toes by going outside the barrier every so often.

The barrier. If they got out, they’d have to come back in. The barrier would have to lower momentarily. That was a risk Catra knew they’d have to take. She kept quiet about it. Adora was already apprehensive about the mission.

“There are speeders in the armory,” Adora said. “We can get some weapons and armor there.”

“Weapons,” Catra agreed. “No armor though.”

“Why no armor?”

“If we’re walking around in Horde armor, the Horde sigil emblazoned right on our backs, we’ll be a target.”

Without hesitation, Catra tore the Horde patch from her uniform.

“Whoa!” Adora exclaimed quietly. “That’s a huge offense. Shadow Weaver’s gonna kill you for that.”

“She can’t kill me if Hordak says not to,” Catra responded. “Now, you’ve gotta get a new shirt.”

“Uhh… all the shirts we have around have the Horde emblem on them.”

Catra sighed. “Get your jacket on then. C’mon. Let’s go.”

“You don’t think they’re gonna notice us, right?”

“Nah,” Catra said, lying through her teeth. “It’s probably just dumb geodites anyways.”

“Yeah,” Adora stuttered. “Probably.”

Catra hoped so, but she knew better. No way they would have geodites guard the thing everyone had been talking about for years. They had found it, but Catra could get it from them. In fact, she would have to thank them for their work. With the Sword in their clutches, the Horde could get right to it.

Adora donned her red jacket, disguising the Horde symbol on her back. Catra remembered the day she had bought it from that black market dealer; Adora had wondered where it came from. She was too square to know exactly where, but the jacket still fit and Adora still wore it.

“So, we doing this?” Catra asked.

“I don’t know,” Adora said.

“I’m going,” Catra huffed. “You can let me go alone, or you can come with me.”

Adora clenched her fist for a moment, her nostrils flaring. Finally, she opened her palm. She nodded. They were off.

First, they snuck past the robots toward the speeders in the armory, right by Horror Hall. Then, they secured a speeder. Adora stood to watch, and Catra looked through the weapons room.

It was a small, rectangular place, the weapons room. It was painted white internally, and she was not sure why. Still, as she turned the dim lights on, she saw wonders. She had been under the impression the Horde had mostly stocked staves and stun batons when it came to anti-personnel weaponry, their lasers reserved for the robots. This, however, this was beyond anything she had seen.

Blaster rifles. Dozens of them. They were white, every last one of them. They had gray dials on the side, right next to a Horde emblem, painted black. The dials went from gray to green in coloration, the boldest and brightest green likely being highest intensity. All of them were dialed down so far they couldn’t fire a shot.

Hastily, Catra took a small pistol. It was little more than a grip attached to a barrel, but it’d do the job. She stuffed it into her leggings, the grip out on the side. She supposed that wouldn’t do. Removing it, she looked around, digging through rifles aplenty and even a few outright cannons.

Then, she found what she _really_ wanted. Her eyes practically sparkled. She heard Adora whisper something indistinct. Concerned, she quickly took her object of desire, and tossed Adora a pair of pistols. Adora squinted in confusion.

“We have blasters?” Adora asked.

“I guess,” Catra said. “I guess we do.”

“Why have we never been _given_ any?” Adora asked.

Blasters had been something shown only in propaganda films about the glory of the Horde, and what it had once been. An interstellar empire, they had been told. Lord Hordak claimed it was all merely propaganda, made up by his predecessor. Catra was pretty sure she couldn’t remember a predecessor.

“I don’t know,” Catra said.

Adora, as it happened, had a belt. She quickly fastened the two pistols to that belt, and Catra wandered back in. She came out with a white staff, which had a switch on the side. Flicking the switch down, Adora grinned as it lit up with crackling green electricity.

“Green,” Catra said. “Lord Hordak was always fond of red.”

“I can’t believe nobody gets to go in the weapons room,” Adora said. “What all do they have in there?”

“A lot of this stuff,” Catra said. “We’ve got blasters, staves, and, uh… this.”

The thing Catra referred to was a small cylindrical hilt. Adora looked at it in confusion, and Catra pressed her thumb to a small button. A glowing, multicolor whip extended, made of energy. Adora’s eyes widened with wonder, and then Catra pressed the button again. Adora nodded.

“Alright,” she said. “How do I handle these things?”

“I’d love to do a training montage,” Catra said sarcastically. “Dials go from gray to green, least to most intense. You wanna give someone a tap on the head, you go gray. You wanna put someone down for good, use green.”

“Gotcha,” Adora said. “Gray it is.”

Catra took the wheel of the speeder. Adora had learned to fight a lot better, but Catra had always been better at driving. The engine slowly began to hum, and they started rising from the filthy ground of the Fright Zone. The more roguish of the two dusted off her crimson tunic.

“You ever thought about defecting?” Catra asked as they began to move. “Like, seriously thought about it?”

“No,” Adora responded. “Why?”

“I have,” Catra admitted. “I think about it sometimes. It’d be a lot easier, you know? The Hegemony controls everything.”

“Yeah, but the Horde are the good guys.”

“Good guys?” Catra asked. “Adora, I think it’s sweet that you believe there are good guys in this conflict, but really look at it for a second. Like, scrutinize it. The Horde uses machinery to do the same things the Hegemony does with magic.”

“Yeah, but the Horde accepts everyone. We even accepted a Princess.”

“Scorpia doesn’t _have_ magic,” Catra said. “We just kept her around because Hordak landed on Scorpion Hill.”

“Why was the hill shaped like a scorpion?” Adora asked.

Catra spent a moment to think. She would get back to her on that. Gritting her teeth, she watched as they approached the barrier. Below, dozens of crystalline soldiers battered and hammered away at the barriers. They were golden, every last one of them. The forces of the Hegemony, foot soldiers. This was their cannon fodder; the geodites were their weakest link, yet so numerous that the Horde couldn’t take an army in a straight fight.

When the geodites started to flood the streets, so would the blood of those who wouldn’t surrender.

Catra had always thought surrender wasn’t that bad an option herself. The Hegemony was bad, to be sure, but they weren’t that much worse than the Horde. They were guilty of everything they were accused of; that, she was certain of, but they were primarily accused of being a cult of personality. Not like the Horde was exactly that for Lord Hordak.

“Come on,” she muttered to herself. “He literally _named_ the thing after himself. It’s an ego trip, that’s for sure.”

Granted, there were things that the Hegemony did Catra couldn’t necessarily approve of. They burned villages, destroyed towns. On the rarest of occasions, they actually _killed_ someone, although that was a rarity even at this point in the war. They were known to employ criminals as labor, although it didn’t sound like they were _cruel_ to them by any means.

Of course, then there was the part where any child with potential magical power got inducted into the ever-expanding Mystacor Island. Magic ruled all in the Princess Hegemony; if you weren’t magical, you didn’t have the same privileges as those who were. That was the rules.

Catra was never a magical person. Shadow Weaver had always asked her to try, but she hadn’t even been able to feel magic. She’d always been better when it came to sneaking around and stealing. She dared any mage to _try_ her.

Of course, while the abundance of mages made the Hegemony dangerous, there were so many of them that about half of them couldn’t do anything beyond constructing geodites and shooting lasers from their hands. Amateurs. Shadow Weaver could summon creatures from other dimensions as she pleased.

“You serious about the idea of defecting?” Adora asked. “I mean, the Hegemony has conquered most of the world.”

“Exactly,” Catra said, as they zoomed past the barrier into the overgrown wasteland of vegetation outside.

That was a classic tactic. Although they apparently had an arson specialist, the Hegemony preferred to use Plumeria’s runestone to overgrow the world with plants, particularly kudzu. That kudzu consumed everything, crushed it all, and was so overgrown that it would take years of work to get rid of it. Years that the Horde didn’t have. If the Hegemony didn’t have a strategic use for a location, and they just wanted to keep the enemy’s hands from it, they’d overgrow it and get rid of its value entirely.

Nobody had died in these incidents. The Hegemony was very clear that they wanted as little lethal force as possible. Catra knew it was always a facade, that they would start killing the second it was easier than letting people live. The rogue furtively tapped the button of the whip’s hilt, letting there be a moment of illumination and then extinguishing it.

“Wow,” Adora said. The kudzu did not cease. It merely went on and on, overtaking dozens of villages, even small cities and fortresses. There were small camps throughout the kudzu, where survivors made their homes. Sooner or later, they would have to leave again. There was nowhere to leave to.

“Yeah,” Catra said. “It’s a lot of power, I’ll tell you that.”

“Who would do this?” Adora asked.

“Anyone would, really,” responded Catra. “It’s power, Adora. Most people you talk to just want power. The people who say they don’t are the ones who want it the most, and who know how to play the game for it.”

“The game?” Adora asked.

“Life, Adora. Life’s a game. It’s one big chess match. You send a pawn out, they capture it. We’re the pieces.”

“So?” Adora asked.

“If a pawn makes their way to the other side of the board… they can become a queen.”

“That’s your reason for wanting to defect?”

“What?” Catra asked. “It’s normal. I’m not getting anywhere in the Horde. No chance of it. The Hegemony doesn’t know me like Lord Hordak and Shadow Weaver do.”

“You’ve only seen Lord Hordak in person, like, once. He does everything through video call, except those meetings with Shadow Weaver.”

“I’ll still get what I want.”

“You sound a lot like her.”

Catra blinked a few times. “Yeah,” she said weakly. “I guess I do sound kinda like Shadow Weaver. I just… I don’t know. Sometimes I think there’s a better world out there, you know? That if we join the Hegemony, it can be sunny.”

“Yeah, and we can watch that sun burn away everyone we grew up with. Lonnie, Kyle, Rogelio. You think they’ll surrender? You think Scorpia’s gonna bend the knee? You think they won’t put down Shadow Weaver?”

Catra, deep down, kind of hoped they would. Still, that was neither here nor there. She set the speeder to autopilot, and sat down on the square metal floor. It was strangely cold for something that ran with an ion engine, but she supposed that was what she was dealing with. She crossed her arms.

“No,” Catra confessed. “You’re right. We can’t turn to the Hegemony, not now. Still, though, isn’t it nice to imagine?”

“Is what nice to imagine?” Adora asked. “The part where we willingly join the force that’s planned to imprison our entire system, or the part where Shadow Weaver probably dies?”

“We could have friends,” Catra said. “Friends that care about us.”

Adora raised an eyebrow at that. Catra always knew what to say to pique someone’s interest. To her shame, it was something she had learned from Shadow Weaver. Shadow Weaver had always placed a significant emphasis on keeping people at her beck and call.

You always gave them enough, Shadow Weaver had told her. You gave them the incentive to stick with you, in the hopes that they might get what they want out of it. Then, you always kept them from what they did want. That way, they wouldn’t leave. Shadow Weaver had said you were supposed to keep people an inch away.

Adora spent a few seconds visibly wrestling with her emotions. Then, she looked at Catra’s arm. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

“It’s nothing,” Catra said.

“Don’t downplay it. Tell me to stop.”

“Stop,” Catra said.

Adora’s face went red. Catra couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. If she were any more angry, Catra was pretty sure a vein would burst. Adora fumed for a few minutes. Finally, she calmed herself. Catra pointed at her.

“You looked like a tomato for a minute.”

“What’s a tomato?” Adora asked.

“Ah, I forgot. You were too chivalrous for the black market. They sold everything. Never ate the tomatoes myself, mainly just threw them at Force Captain Octavia.”

Adora pressed a hand to her mouth. Catra shook her head. “Relax,” she said. “Didn’t hurt her. She was just mad. Never did find out it was me.”

“She’s still mad at you! You tore out her _eye_ , Catra!”

“She got a new one.”

“Yeah, but that’s considered _rude_!”

“Rude, rude, whatever. Look, Octavia needed to come back down to Etheria. Getting her eye clawed out by a six-year-old will do that to you.”

“Catra, you’re crazy.”

“And?” Catra asked. “Never stopped you before, isn’t stopping you now. Adora, please.”

Adora sighed. “I just… a _little_ organization, you know? Just a little bit. The Horde’s so ragtag by this point. We’re in shambles. Lord Hordak barely gives any attention to the troops, and Shadow Weaver’s never been helpful on purpose.”

Catra chuckled at that. Adora gave her an intense glare. She settled down.

They were past the kudzu. Now, they had arrived at the Whispering Woods. Catra took manual control again, slowly guiding the speeder down, down, ever closer. They were just above the trees when she began her search.

Through the trees, she saw things. Adora searched too, but unfortunately, neither had taken a scanner. They knew that somewhere in this forest, in this dense, dark forest, the Sword of Power was being transported. Most likely, they had it protected heavily. Still, despite occasionally spotting a crystalline glint, Catra couldn’t discern where the Sword may or may not have been.

“Okay,” she said. “We gotta stick together on this.”

Adora pulled the two blasters from her belt. She nodded, and tossed one to Catra. Catra ever so slowly lowered the speeder to the grassy ground, and it was then they saw the ghosts. Flickering figures, repeating their motions. They looked exactly like Hordak, only wearing white robes. They were gathered in a circle; they chanted words that could not be heard, stood perfectly still like statues.

Adora leapt back, but Catra instinctively pounced, only stopping to tie her whip’s hilt to her pants. To her shock, she passed right through the figures. She looked up to it from the ground. It looked just like Hordak. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Adora, after a few moments, looked at them.

“Ghosts?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Catra said. “All I know is… well, something bad happened here. I can feel it, you know? Something even I would run from.”

“Catra, you’d run from anything.”

“Yeah,” Catra admitted. “Running is usually the best option.”

Adora helped her up, and Catra took a moment to press a hand to her bicep. It was thinner than before. Catra chose not to bring it up, lest she incur Adora’s wrath during the mission. Still, she hadn’t seen Adora eating lately either. She shuddered at the thought of that. She also wondered where the ration bars were going if Adora wasn’t eating them.

Still, the figures, which seemed outside of this reality, always reaching in, were disturbing Catra quite a bit. She hastily moved away from them, and though they remained, chanting silently like some sort of cult, she moved on. Turning, she analyzed the area.

There was a rudimentary understanding between Catra and the forest very quickly. It had its secrets, she had hers. They were surrounded by trees, but there was a dirt road running along the ground. This seemed to be a supply path. Catra pressed a hand to the dirt, and sifted her fingers through it. There were tracks. Remnants of what appeared to be a horse and carriage.

Marks of hooves were sprawled throughout the dirt, consistently on a path forward. Catra held up a hand, and Adora, who was currently poking one of the mysterious figures, turned to her. The two shared a momentary nod, and Adora walked over. She looked at the tracks, and immediately understood.

Catra pointed ahead. Adora’s eyes flickered around the woods. She pointed to a nearby set of bushes. While the trees surrounded, they would need to keep an eye on the road. The bushes were the best bet.

The two took to the bushes, and began to sneak. They pressed on, until they heard the sounds of rolling wheels and chattering voices. Catra spotted crystal outlines. The trees seemed to press ever tighter on the road, and the two shared a knowing glance. They would be able to corner them all, get them in almost a straight line. Catra prepared her pistol, turning it to medium intensity.

Adora turned it slightly lighter, and the two looked onward. Catra gulped. Then, she made the signal to move forward. They continued to stalk the carriage through the bushes, drawing closer. A horse was at the head of the carriage, trotting at a slow pace. Left of the carriage was a young man, wearing a white and gold coat over a high-cut gold shirt. Right of the carriage was a woman, around the same age, wearing a similar coat. Hers, however, was colored pink, and was longer than his. In her hand were glowing pink sparkles.

 _You got sparkles_? Catra mouthed to Adora. Adora shook her head. Gotcha, Catra mouthed. _I call dibs_. Adora looked to the man, who had in his hand what appeared to be a mechanized crossbow. Its gears whirred, and he held it by the grip as though it were a blaster rather than a bow.

“All I’m saying,” the woman said in a voice that irritated Catra’s ears, “is that you’re awfully focused on this whole ‘magic resistance’ thing.”

Intriguing. So it seemed the young man was ready to rebel. Catra held up a hand, causing Adora to stay her blows.

“Yeah,” the man said quietly, if rather cross in tone. “Science can defeat magic. Really, they’re not that different.”

The woman’s sparkles flared up. Catra’s eyes narrowed. She gritted her teeth as the blood nearly drained from her face. So he was a Hegemony loyalist who just favored tech.

 _That’s a Princess_ , she mouthed to Adora. Adora, however, was focusing on what she was going to do. Catra snapped her fingers, but all it did was capture the attention of the young man.

“You wanna test that?” the young woman asked, pointing the sparkles at him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Magic is strong, but if I could just perfect the formula.”

The woman smiled and shrugged, her powers no longer flaring up. _Sparkles is a Princess_! Catra exclaimed silently at Adora.

Adora still couldn’t see. Instead, she took the blaster in both of her hands, and aimed toward the young man’s exposed abdomen. Catra shuffled awkwardly. If this Princess was this man’s friend, she wasn’t just going to get beaten. If Adora fired that blaster, she could get herself killed. Catra turned away.

She wasn’t going to watch that happen.

She wasn’t going to _let_ that happen.

Catra ran out from her bush. Adora looked at her in shock and confusion, and Catra tackled her. Unfortunately, it was now clear that the two had figured out where exactly Catra and Adora were, considering they loomed above them.

“Put down your weapons,” the young man said, aiming a blunt-headed bolt toward Adora’s head.

The glowing, flickering magic lit up on the woman’s fingers. “Who are you?” she asked, as a gust of wind blew her pink coat backward.

“Please,” Catra said. “We’re… we’re… we’re Princesses!” she said, smiling in the falsest manner possible.

“ _Drop the weapons_!” the man said, his gaze intensifying.

“Okay, okay!”

The two dropped their weapons. Catra laid before the two her whip’s hilt as well. The woman placed her glowing hand nearer to Catra’s face; the rogue couldn’t help but tense up in fear. She gulped again.

“Names, ‘Princess.’ I want names.”

“Glimmer, lay off. They’re probably just incompetent travelers.”

“ _Incompetent_?” Catra exclaimed in offense.

“ _Travelers_?” Adora asked in similar offense.

Catra looked at Adora questioningly, and the other woman answered only with a shrug. The young man moved his crossbow to Adora’s neck. Catra, despite a temptation to leap into the bolt’s path, remained where she was. Adora was going to be fine. She’d taken more blows to the head than Catra could count. Another wouldn’t hurt that much.

“I’m… uh… Princess, uh… Princess…Journalia!” Catra exclaimed.

“That’s not a real Princess,” the man said.

“H-how-how do _you_ know that? My, uh, my runestone is… I, uh, I can write a journal, and it kills people, and… okay, you guys got me.”

Catra mustered up a veneer of arrogance. In a situation like this, it was best not to display too much fear. If the enemy knew their advantage, they would use it for all it was worth.

“Name’s Catra,” Catra said. “This here is my buddy Adora. We have about ninety Horde robots converging on your position. Soon, my personal Colossus will be…”

There was a great heat when Catra took a blast from the woman’s hand. Adora immediately leaped onto her body to defend her, but Catra could barely move. It was a solely concussive blast, but Catra was quite sure that another would knock her unconscious. She coughed and sputtered, clutching Adora.

However, she made the most of the moment. Knocked backward, laying down, she analyzed the tightness of the path and composition of the enemy. There were four geodites. A Princess was a strong thing, but the Hegemony had clearly overestimated its own power if they thought two people and four geodites could guard the Sword of Power.

The sword’s unique energy signature was in that carriage, or so the datapad had said. At the moment, it was back with the speeder. Catra had left it, as she preferred to do these things herself. She could handle herself in a scrape.

Against a Princess? That’d be harder. But not impossible. Far from impossible.

“Alright,” Catra said, finally sitting up. “I don’t have a Colossus, but I _do_ have-- _what the heck is that_?”

Catra pointed toward the carriage. The woman turned her head. The man did as well, although he kept his crossbow trained on Adora. Catra used the opportunity to grab her whip. With a single lash, she struck the man and woman alike on the legs. Both of them fell to the ground, and Catra, using her bare feet, slid one of the blasters to Adora, before kicking one into the air and catching it with her tail.

Setting aside the incredible pain that caused her foot, Catra stood. She and Adora immediately took aim at the geodites. They were made of pink crystals, and they rushed forth. With two shots from each, they fell. Before the Princess and her companion could respond, the blasters were trained on them.

“Names,” Catra said.

“Catra,” Adora responded. “We gotta get moving if we want the Sword. That horse could run anytime.”

“Go get it then!” Catra responded.

Adora once more clenched her fist, before rolling her eyes and handing Catra her pistol as she fastened the whip’s hilt to her belt once more. It seemed she had accepted her fellow cadet’s point. Catra beamed, knowing how happy Lord Hordak would probably be about this.

Catra looked at the shattered remains of the geodites. If they hadn’t been made of crystals, it would have been a gory display. Fortunately, they weren’t people; much like the machines of the Horde, they existed to be foot soldiers. They had no purpose beyond that. Honestly, it was a little sad, but hardly the sort of thing that deserved much rumination.

“Now, sparkles, bow, I want _names_.”

The woman in pink raised her hands. With her thumb, Catra turned the intensity to the maximum. She wouldn’t fire, of course; still, the Princess was clearly put down.

“I’m Glimmer,” the one in pink said quietly. “This is my friend Bow.”

“No, I want his name.”

“Yes,” she said. “This is Bow.”

“Your name is Bow.”

The young man nodded.

“Wow. Your parents were very dedicated to archery.”

“They don’t know I’m an archer. They think I’m serving up on Mystacor.”

Catra’s jaw nearly dropped. “So why did they name you Bow then?”

“I don’t know, what’s your name?”

Catra hissed. “ _Cat_...ra.”

“Because you’re a cat.”

“I have the worst mother in Etheria. What’s your excuse?”

Glimmer looked at Bow for a moment. She nearly winced in pain from how this conversation was going. Bow seemed strangely calm for someone captured, always a second from a smile.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Glimmer said. “We need to sort this out.”

“Sort what out?” Bow asked.

“What’s Lord Hordak’s name?”

“Lord… Hordak?”

“Right, right, right. So which came first. Did he name himself after the Horde or did he name the Horde after himself?”

“I don’t know,” Bow said.

Glimmer pointed to Catra. “You! You’re a member of the Horde. Did Hordak name the Horde after himself?”

Catra nearly shot her on the spot.

“I think so,” Catra responded. “Now shut up. I don’t get why you’re handling this so well.”

“Oh, no,” Adora said.

“What?” asked Catra.

“We have a problem!” Adora yelled.

Catra looked around, swiveling her head. Finally, Adora beckoned her to the carriage. While Catra kept her blasters trained on Glimmer and Bow, potentially the people in Etheria with the least nuanced names, she looked around.

There was only a small chest in the back of the carriage. The doors were open, exposing a red cushion. The chest was already open, exposing nothing but a small gray square, made of metal. Catra knew exactly what it was. Turning the dials on her pistols down, she turned to the two captured foes.

“What on Etheria is going on here?” she asked, aiming her blasters at the two.

Bow simply laughed. “You really think we’d let the Horde know we had the Sword of Power? The Sword is in Bright Moon’s citadel already. That is just a tracking device I emulated the Sword’s wavelength with. Honestly, we were hoping for a Force Captain, or even Lord Hordak himself, but instead we got two punks about our age.”

“I’m the punk who’s gonna laser you into oblivion if you don’t tell me where the sword is.”

“Oh, I _would_ tell you,” Bow said. “I totally would. Except for the part where we’ve already captured you.”

There was rustling amidst the trees. Adora quickly began looking around, rather frantically. Before she or Catra could respond, there was a sting in Catra’s arm. She looked at it, and saw a dart full of violet liquid. It pulsed, pushing the liquid into her bloodstream. The rogue gasped, and her vision blurred. She aimed her pistol toward Glimmer’s head, but the Princess blasted her. She fell upon the dirt, grasping for her blaster, and then she was out cold.

**~Hegemony~**

Cold.

Catra felt cold. She didn’t feel cold because it was cold. She felt cold because she was alone.

She had been in this room for about forty minutes by her calculation. That was just the time she was awake. She was sure it had been longer.

They had disarmed her. Her hands were cuffed behind her back. She had snarled and gnashed her teeth at the guard, dressed in golden robes, but he hadn’t even bothered with her. Catra simply sighed and sat back.

It was a nice room, except the part where she was locked in it. There was no furniture, just a bare golden floor. There was a window at the back, but it was covered by curtains that were nailed down. Catra could only speculate that this had once been some sort of guest room.

She wondered how it had gone so wrong. How had she been so stupid? She had figured out Kyle had the information, but had never for a second wondered where he could have gotten it from. Now, it was frankly obvious. She would have kicked herself if her legs weren’t shackled to the floor.

Worse yet, she hadn’t seen Adora. She was starting to get worried. Had they executed Adora? Were they going to? Were they going to execute _her_?

No, she resolved. The Hegemony, even as they were, didn’t execute people. Besides, Hordak would be exceptionally irate if they started murdering cadets. There hadn’t been a casualty in their war in a very long time. It had been a balanced conflict.

Catra’s stomach growled. It had been a while since she’d eaten. Surely it hadn’t been hours, though? The speeder trip had been mostly short, and she couldn’t have been in here that long. The door wasn’t far, and if she could only reach it, she could make it out of here. She could get Adora, and they could get out of Bright Moon. 

Then she smiled.

 _Or_ they could grab the Sword of Power. The two had said it was in Bright Moon already, after all. If they stole the Sword, they would surely be promoted. Well, Adora was already in line for a promotion, but now _Catra_ would get to be promoted too. Not only that, but Lord Hordak would probably throw them a party, and Shadow Weaver would…

Shadow Weaver would still be mad. Catra looked at the shackles on her feet. There was no way to get her hands to them, seeing as those hands were cuffed as well. She needed to take this one thing at a time. She pushed herself up against the wall.

She was near the door. They had her chained to the wall corner right by it, her shackles attached to the wall. Probably the most uncomfortable place they could put her, and she had little doubt it was deliberate.

Still, she had gotten out of tough binds before. It was in her nature. This was practically child’s play for the rogue. She bent backwards, opening her palms. She moved her feet against the wall slowly, slower than ever. Finally, she pressed them intensely against the wall.

And then she leapt. There was a rattling of chains, and the door opened. Catra’s eyes widened in surprise, and the light streamed in. She licked at her front teeth anxiously, and intensified her gaze. She let a low snarl out.

A guard entered the room. He was the same as before, wearing golden robes and a faceless helm. He carried a spear, and had a long golden beard. He smelled strangely like… something pungent. Catra wanted to say he smelled like the kudzu, but it had no real smell beyond some general sort of vegetation. _Flowers_? They called this scent that of flowers, if she recalled. The black market in the Fright Zone had sold them every so often, but they didn’t taste good, and couldn’t earn favor with the higher-ups. Thus, they were useless to Catra.

The guard looked at Catra, who growled, spit leaking through her teeth. The tall man scoffed, and walked out. The door shut behind him.

He hadn’t seen Catra’s hands. They had been cuffed behind her, but now, as she sat on the floor, she was doing better than the Hegemony could predict. She had never lacked a desire to escape from situations; Shadow Weaver had locked her in the closet at age eight to keep her from ruining Adora’s training. Unfortunately, that mask had kept Catra from seeing the look on her face when she saw her least favorite child, the closet’s door knob between her hands.

Catra’s hands were at her waist; it was a simple thing, really, but quite valuable. With nonchalance, she dug the claws of her thumbs into the keyholes of her ankle’s shackles. There was a few minutes of fiddling.

A few minutes later, after she had slashed the final piece of metal from her ankles, Catra looked to the chain against the wall. There was still no way to get the cuffs off her wrists; she supposed she would have to go without for now. She quietly approached the door, and, upon hearing the guard pacing outside, concocted a basic plan.

She knocked on the door. The door slammed open. The guard wandered in, and saw the prisoner missing. He turned to rush out the door, but in the moment his back was turned, he found a pair of cuffs around his neck and a pair of claws inches from his jugular. He surrendered quickly enough. Anyone would do so in his position.

Catra examined the blade, and then slashed the chain of her cuffs against it. Sure enough, the cuffs were reduced to useless wrist bracelets. Pulling the spear from the guard’s hands, she examined the shaft. While it was tempting to tear it in two, it wasn’t wood. It was metal. So, she slashed it to bits with her claws, leaving only the spear’s tip.

Catra turned to the guard, and slashed his mask away with utmost precision. He cowered, sprawling on his back. He tried to slink away, but she brandished the claws which had just destroyed her mask; he caved in soon enough.

“Where is Adora?” she asked.

“I don’t know who Adora is!”

“ _Where is Adora_?” Catra repeated.

“Please,” the guard said, waving his hands frantically. There was fear visible in his bright green eyes. Catra curled her fingers.

“I don’t want ‘please.’ I don’t want begging. I want to know _where Adora is_.”

“Who the hell is Adora?”

Catra took a moment.

“Another prisoner.”

“This is our only cell. If your friend is anywhere else, she’s being kept in the throne room for interrogation.”

Catra nodded. “Thanks. Here, have a souvenir.”

She tossed him the spear’s tip, and slammed the door as she proceeded out.

The halls were surprisingly empty. They were all polished and golden, white triangular patterns running across the walls. The windows were a garish cyan, the floor slippery and silver. Along the walls, Catra occasionally spotted paintings and tapestries, depicting Empress Angella. She was pink in hair, and magenta in the color of her garb. Alongside the magenta was a fur collar on her robe; her hands were entirely concealed.

There was another figure, one beside her. King Micah, from a time back when the Empress went instead by the title of queen. He was around her age, his black beard trimmed. He wore a white tunic, and a pair of baggy black pants. It was said that when he disappeared, the last remnant of Angella’s sanity did as well.

Why, Catra wondered, did they leave the halls unguarded? She needed a way to the throne room. This citadel had dozens of floors, corridors which ran in circular formations. There were doors, millions of rooms. She needed a map, a guide, something.

Catra found what she wanted on a wall. It seemed the throne room was two hallways down, and a stairway up. She smirked, but then recalled that Adora was gone. They were probably torturing her, getting information from her with force and brutality. Catra couldn’t help but shake at the thought of that being done to her as well.

 _Again_ with the thought of herself. She felt a little guilty for that, she wouldn’t lie. Still, the rogue pressed on. Finally, she raced up the stairs to the throne room’s mighty bronze doors. Before it were two guards, each wearing identical golden robes to that of the guard which protected Catra’s cell.

The two guards did not have weapons. They wore masks with tearful golden faces on them. Below the robes, Catra spotted the faintest glimpse of swords. Not the one she wanted. The guards merely gestured to the gargantuan doors.

“What?” Catra asked. “You’re just… letting me in?”

Through the mask, one of the guards spoke. Their voice echoed, as though it were three in one body. They kept themselves completely still.

“On,” the guard said. “Empress Angella awaits you.”

“Yeah,” Catra said, rolling her eyes. “She sure proved her hospitality by locking me up in a cell.”

“A test,” they said.

“A test of what?” Catra asked. “Whether I could pick a lock?”

“Merely a test of time,” the guard said. “If you did not prove yourself in twenty-four hours, we would have sent you on your way back to the Horde, where they would have let down the barrier, allowing our geodites entry into the Fright Zone.”

“Please,” Catra countered. “Like Lord Hordak cares enough to get me back.”

Shadow Weaver’s love of Adora was at least convenient at this point. Catra was quite sure Shadow Weaver wouldn’t leave her precious golden child outside the Fright Zone. She would not be granted the same mercy. Catra had no use to the Horde.

“On your way,” the guard repeated through his nightmarish mask.

The doors opened on their own as Catra entered. She burst into the throne room. Surely she could strike some bargain with Angella to let herself and Adora escape from Bright Moon. Then, they could snag the Sword on their way back. She brandished her claws, her spine straightening in a threatening stance.

And she found Angella, sitting on her throne. She was drinking something from a silver goblet; the Empress herself sat calmly, legs crossed. Adora sat beside the throne, being silently judged by the duo that had trapped them in this mess to begin with.

Adora was resting her head on the arm of the throne when she spotted Catra. She shook her head, as if disbelieving, and Catra tilted her head. She gave Adora a wink, and walked toward the throne of the Empress.

She kneeled. Never had she desired to kneel, but if prostrating herself was her only path to escape, she would do so gladly. Behind the throne, she spotted a golden hilt. In all likelihood, that had to be the Sword.

“Divine Empress,” she began. Angella held out a finger.

“Speak your name first,” the Empress said.

The Empress. She was dressed exactly as she was in the painting; Catra had always thought her to border on the mythological. She had never expected to come face to face with Angella herself. Angella set her goblet down, pink liquid bubbling and rising to the top again with every sip she finished. A mundane use of magic, to be sure.

“I am Catra of the Fright Zone, your divinity.”

“You know me,” she said. “I am Empress Angella of Bright Moon, leader of the Princess Hegemony, owner of all land contained within its borders, rightful overlord of the Fright Zone and of Horror Hall, chosen by the First Ones themselves to rule, wife of a murdered husband, and eventually, I shall be the one that even Lord Hordak himself bends a knee to.”

“Now, majesty…” Catra began.

“Cease your mindless prattling before the Empress,” the one known as Bow exclaimed with great formality. “When she wants your words, she will extend her hand to you.”

Catra bit her tongue.

“Now,” Angella began. “Lord Hordak will accept these terms.”

“Excuse me,” Catra said, raising a hand. “I don’t actually speak for Lord Hordak… or for anyone, if I’m gonna be entirely honest.”

“How _unfortunate_ ,” Angella said. “Your good comrade Adora here does not either. She refused to tell me anything about you.”

Catra damned Adora’s resolve. If she had just confessed, they wouldn’t have hurt her. Although, looking at her, she seemed to sit in a cushioned wooden chair. There were no signs of bruises or bleeding, not a scar or a burn on her form. A servant, wearing a tearful golden mask and a white robe, brought a wooden cart of sweets. Adora quickly helped herself to a cinnamon roll.

“Please,” Angella said, gesturing to the cart. “Partake in the delectable baked goods. Glimmer baked them herself.”

“ _To perfection_ ,” Bow said proudly, patting Glimmer on the back.

The Princess, with her puffy pink hair, began to move toward the cart. Angella moved an arm, barring her from it. She reached out a hand, and with a sparkling aura, levitated what Catra believed was called a “donut.” This required further analysis. Besides, the thief’s stomach was growling.

This sort of thing was so hard to get in the Fright Zone. Catra had stolen a few in her own time. Quickly, she snatched a long spiral roll, glazed with honey, from the metal tray on the cart. The levitating donut fell back down when the Empress smacked her daughter on the arm. Princess Glimmer looked at her with significant indignance, and, in a huff, walked away.

“Glimmer, dear,” Angella said. “Surely you’re not going to thank these people for eating your _fine_ handiwork?”

“Thank you,” Glimmer said.

“Once more,” Angella said sharply. “With sincerity and inarguable courtesy.”

“Thank you very much for eating my baked goods,” Glimmer said.

“Excellent,” Angella responded. “Please, help yourselves. She can always make more.”

Glimmer stood still as a statue. Her face was practically frozen, drained of all color. Her eyes were inattentive, gazing off toward the doors of the room as they shut with a loud thump. Catra stuffed her face with as many sweets as she could manage, and Angella merely sipped her drink. Bow placed an affirmative hand on Glimmer’s shoulder, and she looked at him. Tears were visibly welling in her eyes, but she turned away and stood still.

“As I was telling your comrade, Adora, I hold nothing against the members of the Horde; it is only the leadership that I oppose.”

Catra couldn’t disagree with that. Shadow Weaver and Lord Hordak were hardly people worth trusting, after all. Still, she remembered the kudzu, the overgrowth, the burned villages. For all it was similar to the Hegemony, the Horde had never resorted to such tactics. In another world, perhaps they would, but the Horde did not salt the ground as the Hegemony did. There was some honor among the band of thieves and brutes that comprised the Evil Horde.

Ah, now she was calling them the Evil Horde.

“So, let’s talk terms,” Catra said. “You’ve got nothing against us? Fine. Let us go.”

Bow scoffed. “Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen,” Bow said. “We set a trap, but evidently even the Sword of Power isn’t enough to get the cowards in your leadership to slink out of their nests. So, we got you two instead. I’m sure you have some value.”

Adora opened her mouth. Catra glared daggers at her. She shut up quick.

“Now,” Catra said. “You should know better. Lord Hordak and Shadow Weaver have never cared about either of us. In fact, Shadow Weaver would rather see me dead.”

Adora’s expression intensified. She was about to speak. Catra gave her an even more vicious glare. She held her tongue again. If she blew it, Catra would pay the price.

Catra always paid the price. Every time Adora took a blow in the holo-training rooms, Shadow Weaver blamed Catra. The thief had decided not to show up a while back, but Shadow Weaver just switched to chiding her for not being there to protect Adora. Protect Adora, Shadow Weaver had said. Protect her with your life.

Funny way to frame dying for someone, but whatever.

“Now, your divinity, you could let us go back to the Horde in peace. You wouldn’t see punishment. You have the Sword of Power.”

“Ah, and you see, that is a _problem_ ,” Angella said. “We have the sword.”

Angella waved a hand majestically. The sword rose into the air, covered in a stronger pink aura than that of Glimmer’s magic. The Princess looked on angrily. The Empress showed them the sword. Its blue blade was shining in the light, its golden hilt reflecting light into Catra’s very eyes. Even one not at all attuned to magic, such as Catra, could sense the pure power which radiated from the weapon. There was one problem.

The bottom half of the sword’s blade, including its tip, was trapped in a lumpy stone. In fact, it seemed as though the foundation of the stone had been chiseled away, with no luck in freeing the sword. Catra was tempted to reach out to it, to take its power in her hands, but somehow she knew the weapon would reject her. It was as though it had thoughts of its own.

“It’s stuck in the rock,” Catra said.

“None have been able to unsheathe the Sword of Power from its resting place. We scoured the land. Tomorrow, we chop down the Whispering Woods to find a key to the blade. We will have the Sword. However, I have come to believe this is a Horde spell.”

“Take it up with your precious First Ones,” Catra said.

Bow squinted. Glimmer gasped. Adora’s ears perked up slightly at hearing Catra’s comeback. Empress Angella, however, chuckled.

“Ah, you’ve got a sharp tongue. A resistant tone. Truly, I have missed these things from my sycophantic court of Princesses.”

“Perfuma isn’t sycophantic,” Bow said.

“Perfuma wasn’t sycophantic until I robbed her of the ability to speak. On that note, Princess Glimmer, would you mind getting the jar containing Perfuma’s voice from the chamber of treasures? It’s time we gave it back.”

“So you like resistance, but you won’t let it happen?” Catra questioned.

“That’s an awkward way to phrase it, but yes. Resistance is _fun_ to me. Honestly, the Evil Horde delights me. I love resistance, good Catra. It’s so frustrating to see, but so _cathartic_ to stamp out. I hope to see the Horde banners torn from the Fright Zone by year’s end. Then, I will let nature have its course with the land the Horde stole from it.”

“You’d uproot thousands of homes, of labs.”

“Labs?” Angella asked, nearly laughing. “What use are labs? We did not gain this power from laboratories, Catra of the Fright Zone. We tear it apart with the kudzu, we end the Horde’s reign, and I rule Etheria, as I should.”

“Your divinity, that is a bad idea. The Fright Zone has years of progress.”

“Yes, it does,” the Empress said, rising from her throne. “It’s powerful, progress, but dangerous. Tell me, would Lord Hordak uproot the Whispering Woods if it convenienced his experiments?”

Catra actually stopped for a moment. She looked at her hands. She made a compelling point; Hordak was, as she had pointed out, little more than Angella herself was. In fact, they would do the same thing.

“I will usher in an era of peace through magic and tradition, Catra. Can you disagree with those ideals?”

Adora opened her mouth. “I’m Shadow Weaver’s ward!” she exclaimed.

Angella turned to her. Catra hissed, and leapt back a few feet. Angella ran her thumb across Adora’s chin.

“Delightful,” Angella said. “So, as I thought, we can at least lure the Horde’s second-in-command. We slay the sorcerer’s dragon, we leave him vulnerable. Although, ironically, the sorcerer of the two is the dragon in this metaphor.”

Bow raised a hand. “Empress, this is inadvisable,” he said. We could trick the Horde with these two. Convince them that we are returning them. They’ll lower the barriers, we make our way in, not a drop of blood spilled.”

The Empress pondered it for a moment. Then she shook her head. Bow opened his lips, and Angella drummed her fingers on the arm of the throne. Bow stood at attention, arms at his sides, with such immediacy one could only speculate he had been trained for this.

“We could do that, Bow, but we do not want to face the Horde’s full might. If they surrender, it could be bloodless, but we cannot sacrifice the geodites.”

“Except we can,” Bow said meekly. “They literally exist to be disposable.”

“I said we _cannot spare the power_ ,” Angella said. “Are you questioning my orders, Bow?”

Bow went as stone-faced as Glimmer had been.

“Good,” Angella said. “Thank you for your service. Go help Glimmer with that jar.”

Bow rushed out the doors. Angella extended a hand to Catra. “Speak,” she commanded.

“You won’t get anything for me,” Catra said.

“That’s alright,” Angella said. “I will find a place for you. The Horde is so cruel, kidnapping children and forcing them to serve. Such roles should be reserved for your own kin, not for orphans who can hardly feed themselves.”

Adora looked to Angella with a sort of awe. Catra was tempted to do the same, but knew better. If she felt that same awe, that same admiration, she would find herself closer to the Hegemony. Close to the Hegemony, she could not be. If she grew too near she would have no place in the Horde.

“What about those two?” Catra asked.

“Ah, Bow, my daughter’s friend and, I hope, consort.”

Adora was visibly disgusted. Catra couldn’t help but agree with that sentiment. It was rather disgusting and intrusive, she had to admit, but she supposed the Empress was the Empress, and it was her right to know.

“Bow loves his gadgets. Thinks I’ll come to favor technology if he does enough with it.”

“You won’t?” Adora asked. “It’s got its uses.”

“Technology cannot heal the sick,” Angella said. “It cannot create. It can only destroy.”

Catra once more bit her tongue, resisting an urge to ask about the view from the Empress’s glass house.

“What has technology done?” the divine ruler questioned. “Before we conquered as we did, it drank the oceans. It pollutes our air. They make stronger weapons, better for taking lives, but it is not in the nature of those who favor it to create that which would truly help people. The Horde once had a foothold on the world, and they would have seen our skies turn yellow and our seas run dry.”

Catra couldn’t help but agree with that, she would admit. There was some hole of logic in it, but she could not spot it. Besides, it would be imprudent to point it out to the Empress.

 _The Empress_. Catra contained a few curses. She was talking to the Empress of the Princess Hegemony, the most powerful being in Etheria. She should have kneeled further. Once, Angella had annihilated an entire platoon of tanks in a single blast. Even Lord Hordak spoke glowingly of her, in his own backhanded way.

“I see your point,” Catra said.

“Of course you do. All beings with wisdom understand what I am saying. Bow can play with his toys, invent his machines. He will never surpass us in power.”

“Probably not,” Catra confessed.

“As for the other one?” Adora asked. “The cute one?”

Catra rolled her eyes so hard they nearly fell back into her brain.

“My daughter, Glimmer. An insolent little thing, she is. Ambitious, which is admirable, but headstrong. She is friendly enough, but she understands being a warrior, not a monarch. Poor Glimmer, living her life in fairytales ever since Micah passed.”

“Micah… died?” asked Adora.

“Yes,” Angella said bluntly. “He was slain in cold blood by Lord Hordak as we fought. Struck by a blast from one of his cannons.”

Hordak, decrepit as he was, had once fought Empress Angella and lived to tell the tale. Catra couldn’t deny she was a little impressed. Not enough to stop faulting the man for his shoddy work ethic, but enough that she would give him a little more credit next time his name crossed her lips.

“Well…” Catra said. Adora looked at her.

“Lord Hordak has proven time and time again that he is a monster,” Angella said. “He comes with his technology, playing those which are not human as though they are puppets on strings, guiding them in his desperate conquest. He is a being driven by pure megalomania.”

“Yeah,” Catra said. “I can relate to that.”

Empress Angella’s lips curled into a slight smirk. “My child, you have the beauty of a thousand suns.”

She was talking to Adora, of course. Catra simply shook her head, and looked around the nigh-empty throne room for a place to lounge. It was solely Adora, of course, who had gotten a chair.

“You said you’d find roles for us?” Catra asked.

The Empress was cold for a second, then once more warm. “Of course,” she said. “Tell me, what was your place in the Horde?”

“Oh, well,” Catra muttered. “I stole things. I bothered Shadow Weaver a lot.”

“Your place. What rank did you hold?”

“I was just a cadet,” Catra said.

“I do not sense magic in you, my child. You have no power with it, do you?”

Catra stuttered. She turned away, only to find that she could not turn any further. Slowly, against her will, she rotated back, feeling as though she had been twisted by an invisible hand.

“Answer the question,” Empress Angella said sternly.

“No, your divinity,” Catra admitted.

Empress Angella’s glare was cold. It was stern. She moved her hand through Adora’s hair with what was unmistakably genuine affection. Catra clenched her fist.

Even here, she was second fiddle to Adora. She couldn’t even betray her own side without getting reminded what Shadow Weaver had thought of her. She clenched her jaw, and her face went red. Adora looked at her, and immediately rushed from her chair. She wrapped her arms around her.

Catra felt like she was at home. That was the thing, in the end. The bunkers, the Fright Zone, Horror Hall. They had never been her home.

Adora was her home.

She couldn’t lose Adora.

She _wouldn’t_ lose Adora.

Finally, she sighed onto Adora’s shoulder. Adora patted her on the back, and then there was a sharp clap. The two immediately arranged into formation, standing at attention side by side. Empress Angella looked over them as if pontificating, and then rose from her throne.

When she rose from her throne, there was a sparkling power. She approached Catra, dressed in her pink robes, and for a moment, Catra thought perhaps she would have her worth proven. She reached out to the Empress, the most powerful being in all of Etheria, and found her hand smacked away, just as Angella had done to her daughter.

So that’s who she was in this scenario. Catra fumed silently at the circumstances, and then prepared herself. “Fine,” she said. If she couldn’t get a little recognition, even here, on the other side of the war, she could get a little recognition through the thing everyone acknowledged. The universal force, one that ran through the bones of everyone on Etheria.

 _Fear_.

Catra swung her claws forth. She expected a tearing of flesh, a shedding of blood. The scoundrel found only that she was stopped.

“Treacherous to a fault, child. Headstrong. _Headstrong_.”

“Why are you doing this?” asked Adora. “She’s offering us a place.”

“Like _you’d_ understand,” Catra snarled, a droplet of spit landing on Adora’s face to her disgust. “She’s offering you a place. She’s going to reward brats like you with the world.”

“I can’t use magic either!” Adora said.

“Like hell you can’t!” Catra exclaimed.

Adora was silent. They both knew the truth. Shadow Weaver had sensed magic in Adora, First Ones blood, pure and powerful. Still, though, Adora had never been able to use magic. They both knew she could. It was only a matter of time before she would.

“She can sense it,” Catra said. “You’re going to get a place, a good, cozy place, and you know where I’ll be? The streets, fighting for scraps!”

“Nobody fights for scraps in the Hegemony, child. Our coffers never run dry of gold, nor our storehouses of food. You will be safe.”

“Safe?” Catra asked. “Like anyone’s safe in this place. You think you have _safety_? No, no, your divinity, you’ve got it all wrong. You’ve just got the Fright Zone dolled up in shiny paintings and soft curtains. I give you a year at most, even if you win. _One year_ before your entire empire turns on each other.”

Empress Angella narrowed her gaze. With a snap of her fingers, Catra suddenly felt as though she was flying. That was probably, of course, because she was.

Catra struck the ground. It seemed the Empress had teleported her into the air and let her fall. Adora immediately reached down for her, but the thief pushed her away as she got up.

“You are an ungrateful brat!” declared the Empress. Adora couldn’t help but nod at that.

Catra rose to her feet, shaking. “Try something like that again,” Angella warned, “and I shall warp you straight to Beast Island.”

“You’re very powerful,” Adora said.

“I can teach you this power,” Angella said. “I can show you so much.”

“W-well,” Catra blustered. “I can do things! I can tell you things about Shadow Weaver!”

Immediately, Angella was attentive. Catra would settle for that. She assumed a ready stance, shaking. She didn’t shake that often; she was a bit of a coward, no denying that, though she preferred the term “reasonable person,” but she hardly ever shook. You showed fear, everyone could take you.

“Like what, my child?” Angella asked.

“I… she uses magic!”

Angella looked down skeptically.

Adora moved a hand toward Catra’s mouth. Catra pawed her hand away, and raised a finger. She wasn’t done talking.

“Shadow Weaver doesn’t just use any magic, though. Shadow Weaver channels the Black Garnet runestone.”

Angella froze.

“The _Black Garnet_?” she asked.

Catra nodded.

“Impossible,” the Empress said. “Leave my chambers at once.”

“And go where?” Catra asked, genuinely curious.

With another snap of her fingers, they were in a small room. Near them were dozens of cooking pots, a few boxes of flour, and a smattering of powdered sugar. There was something baking, which Catra could smell. In fact, a fair number of ovens and stoves surrounded them.

Catra turned, and found herself face to face with Princess Glimmer, who was carrying a tray full of pastries. Catra timed her scream with Glimmer’s precisely, although she took the time to get an apple tart from the tray before Glimmer leapt back, flipping the tray over. Before either could do anything more, an arrow flew behind Catra’s head, narrowly missing. It hit the tray, nailing it to the marble wall nearby.

“This is an _entire building over_!” Glimmer exclaimed, preparing her powers. Catra felt an awkward warmth.

“Well, yeah,” Catra said.

“Why are you here?” asked the familiar voice of the young man, Bow.

“Look, you’re named Bow and you wield a crossbow, and I’m really gonna need to figure it out for a minute,” Catra said.

Adora extended a hand. Bow, bemused by this, extended his own. To his surprise, she shook his hand and said “Hello!” in a friendly manner. Catra turned to her, and mouthed the words _Are you crazy_? Adora pressed a finger to her lips.

“So, we never formally met,” Adora said. “I’m Adora, this is Catra, my friend.”

“Hello,” Catra said awkwardly. “I-I’m Catra.”

“Bow,” the young man said. “You really got my bad side before. I’m pleased to meet you.”

Glimmer raised her eyebrows. She intensified her glowing sparkly hands. Catra raised her hands in surrender, and shook her head. Even she wasn’t going to tangle with a Princess twice.

“So,” Adora said. “That Empress is sure something.”

Glimmer slammed her fist upon the oven. It lit aflame, perfectly cooking a set of cinnamon rolls. Catra reached for one, but the potentially deadly glare Glimmer gave her kept her from eating any more. Instead, she pointedly ate the apple tart right in front of the Princess’s face, which had even remained within her hands as she had raised them. Glimmer growled.

“D-don’t sparkle, maybe?” asked Catra.

Bow walked over to Glimmer. “It’s alright,” he said. “She doesn’t shoot people with her sparkle lasers about forty percent of the time.”

“What about the other sixty percent?” Catra asked.

Bow simply shrugged. Catra slumped against a cool oven. Out of spite, Glimmer lit it. She jerked away from it furiously, nearly aflame.

“Take it easy, Glimmer,” Bow said. “We don’t want to blow up the guests on their first day.”

“Guests?” Glimmer asked.

“Yes,” Bow said. “Guests, Glimmer. They’re not doing anything to us right now. We don’t do anything to them.”

“They’re Horde _scum_!” exclaimed the Princess.

“Hey, guilty as charged,” Catra said. “But, your friend’s right. We’re not gonna do anything to you. I mean, if we could, I would knock you both into next week, but we can’t, so we won’t do anything.”

“Right,” Bow said.

“You… you fiends in the Horde,” the Princess said, slowly calming down. “You initiate rules against killing after you… after you… after you…”

“Hey,” Catra said. “I didn’t have any involvement in that, and neither did Adora. That’s Lord Hordak’s business.”

“Right,” Glimmer said. “Look, I’m sorry. Hard day and all.”

“It’s okay,” Adora said.

“You guys don’t believe that stuff about royal blood, right? About, you know, that kind of garbage the Empress peddles.”

“No,” Bow said, at the same time Glimmer said a hearty “Yes.”

“Look,” Glimmer said. “Like it or not, this blood, blood, gives us magic power.”

“Yes, but magic power doesn’t make someone better than someone else,” Bow said.

Adora stood by Catra. They watched the two grow more fierce as it went on. It seemed the dynamic duo may be on the verge of fighting amongst themselves, when a burst of pink light flooded the room. Angella materialized right in front of Catra.

“We use these two as bait,” she said. “Shadow Weaver values at least one. Then, when they least expect it, we unleash everything. With their leaders defeated, we will take the Fright Zone without effort.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Bow and Glimmer alike kneeled. Adora and Catra followed in their path, kneeling as well. Angella looked at them.

“You will do well for me, my children,” she said. “Glimmer, finish your treats. I will prepare a proper meal for them myself. You should all eat well. Tomorrow’s a big day, my children. Several orders of magnitude higher than usual.”

They nodded. There was something sick about it, but Catra supposed she could be in worse straits. Even in the Hegemony, she would have _some_ place with Adora. Not like she had a choice when it came to betraying the Horde; dishonor was far better than death.

~Hegemony~

Deep in Hordak’s sanctum, among the mess of wires and perfectly insulated cables, and amidst the messes of opaque glass containers, there stood the leader of the Evil Horde. Dozens of cables were plugged into his back, his left arm detached completely from his body. His right hand was clenched into a fist.

Shadow Weaver brushed a pair of cables aside. This was the leader of her own organization, yet she could not help but hope he would die already. His damned honor had kept them from victory one time too many. Maybe, though, maybe that was the wine speaking.

“Lord Hordak, I bring grim tidings.”

Hordak sighed. A robotic claw pressed a cylindrical piece of metal into his socket, and then a blowtorch emerged. Hordak held up a hand, and then, after a moment of furious growls and yelps, the repairs to his body were complete. Then, the rest of the arm was slowly added, piece by piece.

Shadow Weaver remembered the day he had lost it. She had sought to aid him with a blade rift, to slay Angella in battle. He had denied the request, and had chosen to take her on himself. His condition had already been worsening, but he was determined to face her anyways. He said he would take her on without a single loss of life.

Such dreams died easily. One ruthless decision later, and Hordak’s arm had been irreparably maimed. Regularly, he did work, putting effort and innovation into replacing his own arm. This version of it was made of shining steel, and had a red power crystal embedded deep within. Lord Hordak’s top had been removed from his body, leaving only the bottom of his dress. His bare chest was covered in scars, vitiligo across his form, leaving him in various shades.

Shadow Weaver had prayed many a time to whatever dark spirits she could summon that Hordak’s flaws would take him. That he would charge too quickly into battle, or succumb to his ailments. Unfortunately, he was above all persistent. She would not dare take him on yet, for an open betrayal would surely turn the rest of the Horde against her. That was not to mention that the only blueprints for Hordak’s weapons and vehicles were stored within his mind.

If she ended the life of Lord Hordak, who was now unplugging himself from his rudimentary setup of repair, she would see a coup, a civil war. Most likely, that brat Catra would want some of the power for herself, bloody little creature she was. Why, merely ten years ago, she had been locking the little rascal in closets. Now, she was a legitimate force, a threat, much as the sorcerer would deny it.

“Your tidings are always grim,” Lord Hordak said quietly.

“The dimensional rift grows nearer to opening every day.”

“And what do I care?” he asked. “Dozens of dimensional rifts have opened.”

“ _He_ will come through this one.”

Hordak turned to her. He was silent. He curled the fingers of his mechanical hand, and bit down at his lip. “Grim tidings indeed,” he said.

“What do we do?”

“We need more Force Captains. We need more territory. We… we cannot cede to the Empress.”

“No,” Shadow Weaver agreed. “We can not. Still, each of my wards? Catra is too brash, too treacherous, too ambitious.”

“I do not care for ambition; she could have the Fright Zone once we were done, if not more. We can placate any thirst once we have won. So, find your wards. Promote them to the rank of Force Captain. Make the forges run twice as hot. Commission the builders to build more.”

“What shall you do?” she asked.

“I shall bide my time,” he said. “I am in no condition to do anything. Soon, however, we seek the hand of Dryl again.”

“If he comes so soon…”

Hordak held up a hand, and slumped back, plugging a cable into the port of his neck. He clenched his fists, and Shadow Weaver spotted a droplet of green blood on his lip. He had bit down hard, harder than before.

“We will move up our timetables,” he said. “We cannot cede to the Hegemony. They will only serve him further. We must resist forever.”

“Like some kind of rebellion?” Shadow Weaver asked mockingly.

“If we must be rebels, we shall be,” said the Horde’s overlord.

“Then we are already defeated.”

“Enough,” he said. “I will have no more doomsaying from you. We will promote your wards, both of them. Where are they?”

Shadow Weaver wondered where indeed. Quickly, she spun her finger in circles. At last, she spotted Catra and Adora. They were… breaking bread with a young woman with pink hair, and a young man wearing a shirt which bared his abdomen.

“Lord Hordak,” Shadow Weaver said. “We have another problem.”


	2. Bargains

As most days began, this one did with the rising of the sun. Lord Hordak, leader of the Horde, was on his way to his destination; deep in the Crimson Waste, one of Angella’s countless projects. He would have used drills, himself, but she chose to use prisoners. Non-human citizens she had kidnapped during their evacuation from Alliance territory worked her mines. They dug deep into the ground, searching for something; obviously, they collected precious minerals and material for building more fortresses, but Hordak wondered why they went so far _down_. After all, they could dig into the walls.

Even now, as he could see, the mine had countless floors. In its center was a massive hole, which reached into what was perhaps Etheria’s very core. Rickety wooden ladders provided the only way from floor to floor, just outside. The floors were circular rings on the outside of the mine.

On another day, Hordak would have come to strike this place, to free its workers and to gain a tactical advantage. Today, however, that would be more of a struggle than it was worth. As he grew closer to the mineshaft, he could feel the pain where his left arm had been only a week ago. He hoped Queen Angella had taken some time to grieve; not for her sake, as he couldn’t care less, but for his. Angella had a certain fury to her temper, one he hoped he would not have to deal with.

At last, he arrived. A small umbrella of pink and gold stood above the mine’s edge, a wooden chair on each side of a glass table. Two cups of what was presumably tea sat on napkins on the table, and there was a small basket. It was as though they were having a picnic rather than negotiating for war.

Already, there she was. Her robes were black, robes of sorrow. She sat, pink hair blowing in the wind, hands clasped. Queen Angella stared blankly at the glass table as Hordak stepped off his speeder’s platform. Arriving, he looked in the distance. He could see even the outline of Castle Chill from here.

“What do you want?” he asked roughly.

“Lord Hordak,” Angella said, looking up to him with a glare ten times more icy than that of the Frost King, who had fallen in the battle. Many kings had fallen, but such things were to be expected. Hordak would not take blame for that which he had not done.

“We are here to discuss terms.”

“Sit and drink your tea. We will discuss terms.”

“I do not _need_ tea.”

Hordak heard the sound of crystals smashing upon the ground. Looking behind him, he saw five geodites. A week ago, he could have fought them; now, however, he was without balance. He had a missing arm, and an eye blurry due to the bright and gleaming spectacle of the previous battle.

“I _insist_ ,” Angella said.

It was then that it occurred to Hordak that she could take his life anytime. He was completely in her hands; a simple snap of her fingers and Lord Hordak would be a martyr. The ruler of the Fright Zone sighed.

He wore a black dress as well. Even the Horde’s propaganda had made no secret of the fact he too mourned the fallen. While no ranking officers had perished in the battle, he remembered the name of all twelve who had perished in its final clash of pink and red. Their names were carved in a memorial in the center of Horror Hall. They had failed him, but that did not mean they deserved no remembrance.

Their names had been Robert, Jaden, Kevin, Bill, Kronis, Karak Nul, Ryo, Alan, Keston, Decor, Eye, and Carol. A set of normal names, for the most part, normal names for normal people, raised into a battle they had no stake in and dying for a cause they did not believe in. Hordak had to admit he envied them for their names, but he had no envy for their state. It was tragic that people would perish for something none among them truly believed in.

He had already mandated a policy that anyone could leave the Fright Zone anytime, but so few chose to. Sometimes, he wished they would all leave him and get it over with. It was more an inevitability than a possibility by this point; he awkwardly picked up the hot tea, and sipped a little bit of it rather indignantly. There were solutions to his problem.

“Tell me, how has your week been?” Angella asked.

“I buried my dead. I worked on replacements for my arm. We tend to our wounded. The Horde has rather conclusively lost.”

“Ah, but tell me about the mundanities.”

Hordak clenched his jaw. Through gritted teeth, he spoke.

“There _are_ no mundanities in the Fright Zone.”

“Ah, I forgot. All business all the time with you, Lord Hordak. You are such a serious man, such a lonely one.”

Hordak clenched his fist in response. Angella sipped her tea, and then opened the basket. She removed a sandwich, and offered it to Hordak. He removed the top, and saw that the sandwich was composed entirely of fruit and vegetables. It seemed Angella even knew that which he wanted on his food. Despite the temptation, however, Hordak neglected it.

“Do you take me for a poisoner?” she asked. “I assure you, if I intended to kill you, I would do so with my _bare hands_!”

For a moment, her expression was feral, like that of a beast barely kept on a leash. Then, she faded, regaining her composure. Hordak could not help but look away from the sight in shame. He had not _meant_ for King Micah to die, and it was unfortunate she could not understand such a thing.

“Do you know what the First Ones said to me when they gave me my status? What they told me when they placed me on my throne?”

“What?” Hordak asked.

“You are destined to rule,” she said. “They told me it was my destiny. Every last one of the original royals were handpicked, made immortal by the First Ones so as to rule for an eternity. Now, I am last among the immortal rulers. The princesses, kings, and queens, they are all tapped into runestones. Now, there are just princesses. Even young Frosta takes a throne. You killed her father.”

“I did not kill her father,” Hordak said.

“You called for artillery fire.”

“I also warned you it was coming. Something I see I should not have done, as this would be over if I had simply ended your life. Besides, King Micah could not have been slain by my cannons. They fired smoke and knockout gas.”

Angella’s eyes lit up with pink. Hordak felt a shockwave across the world. A pair of glowing, resplendent wings formed behind her.

“I find it endearing that you think you could kill me at all,” Angella said.

Hordak was not afraid. If she were to end his life, he could not stop her. He would rest only with the knowledge that, a failure he may have been, but he died for the cause.

Instead, Angella deflated. Her wings faded. She sat back in the chair, and looked at Hordak with her eyes slowly ceasing to glow.

“How fare your allies in Dryl?”

“Communication has ceased,” Hordak said, looking to the sky longingly. Another casualty of the war, it had been; she had not died, but she was receding. The Colossi had completed reconstruction yesterday, and he had given up hope of speaking to her again. She was content with many things, but she would not see her creations used solely to take lives. She was a scientist, not a butcher, or so she had said.

“A shame,” Angella said. “Drink your tea and eat your sandwich.”

“I will not eat homemade sandwiches while the Fright Zone subsists on ration bars,” Hordak said.

“Ah, you insult my daughter’s craftsmanship,” Angella said. “She made these herself.”

“Your daughter, Princess Glimmer?” Hordak asked. “I did not take her for a chef.”

“Nor did I, but she is successful in that endeavor. Moving on, Lord Hordak, I could offer peace. I want only one thing.”

Hordak knew what she would say. He was practically sighing already. She would demand his complete surrender, and then once it was easy she would end his life. Angella could not just have one; beyond that, Hordak would not see his people toil away in mines.

The Fright Zone, whether he would acknowledge it or not, were his people; as Prime had a responsibility to his brethren, Hordak had one to even the children he took in. The geodites stepped closer to the table.

“I want your surrender,” she said.

“I assumed such,” Hordak responded. “ _No._ ”

Angella smiled warmly. The smell of cinnamon was on her breath as she leaned closer to him. Hordak did his best to look away completely.

“You can end this war. Your people will not run the risk of starving ever again. All it takes is two words. _I surrender_. All you must say.”

“Then you will take my safe haven, dismantle it, overrun it with kudzu, and put my people to work in the mines. Not to mention _my_ fate.”

“The mines are not such a cruel fate,” Angella said. “It is better than them worthlessly wasting their lives in cells. They work, they accomplish things. We feed them three meals a day, and they receive a water break every half-hour. We are not barbarians, Lord Hordak.”

Hordak knew that she spoke the truth. Intelligence had stated that the workers in the mines were indeed well-maintained. They were not, however, free.

“Is it not better to willingly submit to me than to be crushed?” she asked. “You care about your people, or so you pretend. Surely you recognize the only way to help them is to give them up.”

“Say what you will of them,” Hordak said. “In the Fright Zone, however, they are free. True, they fight my battles for me, but they can leave anytime.”

“You’re right,” Angella said. “Truly, you give them so many options when you feed them propaganda about the evil of Princesses. In fact, I would say you thoroughly free them by taking their childhoods from them and training them to fight your wars for you. Truly, it is so much better than my giving them full bellies and a proper place to work.”

Hordak knew she was disingenuous, but he could not refute her words. She lied, of course, as these people so often did, but the mines were not so monstrous a fate; he knew, however, that they would be eventually. People like Queen Angella only grew more depraved as their immortal lives went on.

“We, the ones you call ‘human,’ are the ones chosen as the banner-carriers of the First Ones. Rare, now, that there is untouched First Ones blood, pure and sanctified. Rarer still, one capable of channeling a runestone even without it. They gifted this power unto us, drawing it from Etheria’s natural magical reserve. Now, I ask who has right to rule? Some descendant of a despotic cult leader, or _me_ , the chosen of the First Ones and channeler of all runestones but the destroyed Black Garnet, handpicked for immortality and royalty?”

Hordak stood. The geodites turned on him, ready to strike. Their technicolor crystals shimmered in the beating sunlight of the Crimson Waste.

“Rulers are not chosen,” Hordak said. “Rulers earn their role. I earned mine through bloody conquest, betrayal. I was not chosen by fate, or by rulers above me. I clawed my way up from the dirt to prove my worth time and time again, and I…”

Hordak looked at his hands. He winced at the sight of them. They once held strength, but now they were but scars and bone, barely a thin layer of skin remaining. He was decaying, or so it seemed. Even his best analyses had not discerned exactly what was wrong with him; perhaps it was Etheria’s environment, or yet more likely, the dozens of baptisms, that had done this to him. Still, as he looked upon his hands, the temptation once more arrived to surrender, and to permit Angella to be victorious; after all, it was surely not that Prime would come for him.

No. Prime would come. He was certain of it. He recalled Prime’s words to him, telling him that he had been selected for a special mission to save the entire species in their darkest hour. Hordak clenched his fists and rose from the table.

“Don’t talk about divine right,” he said gruffly. “You may have been chosen by the First Ones, but I will prove my worth.”

Angella moved her hand down. The geodites approached, and Hordak sat back down, scowling. If they meant to kill him, they would surely have better ways to do so.

“You believe in freedom, Lord Hordak, but freedom is among the casualties on the road to paradise.”

“Then _damn_ paradise!” Hordak said. “I knew paradise once, and…”

It was free, wasn’t it? Of course it was. True, they did not have names, but he needed no name; Prime was a benevolent ruler, who gave them all they needed. If they were not to serve him, they had no purpose, and purpose was the most freeing quality that they had. They brought Prime’s word to other civilizations, and while some of them had to be conquered to ensure that they submitted, it was different from the Queen because Prime had decreed it was.

“I knew paradise once,” he repeated fruitlessly. “The First Ones could never create paradise. My people shall be free, Queen Angella, free as they can be in this war, while you would see them in the mines or upon the ever-expanding floating isle of Mystacor.”

Angella clasped her hands. She placed them under her chin, mounting her head upon them. There was something sick in her warm smile, her eyes not moving for a moment. They were entirely dull, as though someone had plucked the color from them and turned them to dust beneath their heel.

“You aren’t a fool, Lord Hordak. I speak ill of you so often, but I acknowledge your intelligence, the intelligence I now appeal to. One last chance. _Surrender_ , Lord Hordak, and allow all among you to live safe lives in the paradise I will make, a new Etheria where the sun shines upon all.”

“No,” Hordak said. “I’ve already stated I don’t care about paradise.”

“So you don’t care about your people.”

Hordak was stung, but he held firm. He batted the sandwich from the table with the back of his hand, and Angella looked momentarily offended. Any opportunity to make the Queen grow indignant was a reward in the eyes of Lord Hordak.

“I came here to negotiate terms of warfare, not terms of surrender,” Hordak said. Let us discuss them.”

“Certainly,” Angella said, producing a piece of paper. She set the paper down, and one of the geodites passed by, leaving a pair of black-feathered quills, one for each of the two.

“What is your first term?” Hordak asked, recognizing that if he were to have any term passed, Angella would be first to speak, as she clearly desired.

“I want a list of the entire leadership of the Horde.”

“You already have it,” Hordak said. “Me, Shadow Weaver. My Force Captain Scorpia, I suppose. Commander Cobalt, though he mainly handles morale surveys.”

“Excellent. How is Shadow Weaver?”

“Still in a coma,” Hordak muttered. “Like you left her.”

“She’ll be back up in a week. Where does she get that power from?”

Hordak did not reply. He knew, of course, that she got it from the Black Garnet runestone, but the Princess Alliance thought the Black Garnet had been destroyed, and he had no intent to convince them otherwise. It was best to keep your secrets up your sleeve, or in the case of Hordak, sheathed right in your bracers like hidden blades.

“Moving on to your second term?” he asked.

“I want the Evil Horde to cease their operations in the Crimson Waste. We will still allow you to buy food and necessities, but there will be no more searching for First Ones artifacts and recruitment of mercenaries.”

Hordak scoffed. As though they had the coin to recruit mercenaries. Still, he relented. Angella brought her third and final term.

“I want King Micah’s name placed on every memorial in the Fright Zone. They will know exactly what you did.”

Hordak growled at that. He was shocked by the audacity of such a demand, but even moreso, he was offended on behalf of those that had fallen in his name. Those were their memorials, not those of enemy soldiers; surely, there were places to mourn King Micah in Alliance territories as well. No, this was an attempt to create guilt and shame in Hordak. Unfortunately for the ruler of Bright Moon, Hordak had never before known shame through morality.

“Fine,” Hordak said.

“Excellent!” responded Angella, a flicker in her eyes indicating her malice.

“Now for my terms?” Hordak asked after a minute of awkward silence.

“Go ahead,” Angella said.

“No more killing.”

“No what?”

“No more killing. Lives have been lost in this war, lives that did not need to be lost. You would be first to assent to this rule, I would think, considering recent events.”

Angella took a moment, and then nodded. She found the suggestion logical. She pushed the paper to Hordak’s side of the table. After signing his name, the name he had no right to, Lord Hordak added his first term to the document. Angella looked at him with curiosity, examining him as though he were an animal she wished to analyze. Hordak looked aside, discomforted; what if she noticed his physical disorders? If she noticed she could take him on easily in any conflict heated enough, she would surely capture him now.

The quill fluttered from Hordak’s hand. He was not used to using his right at this point; his left was the one he had vastly preferred, unlike Prime. Now, he began to wonder why such things were. Still, he proceeded nonetheless, picking up the quill. His dress billowed in the wind slightly, although he was thankfully concealed in the black armor he wore over it.

“Next, I think we ought to have two months of a truce. Allow us to recoup our losses and rebuild.”

Angella’s right eye twitched slightly, and then she nodded. Hordak wrote out the term, although it was in awkward print. Etheria’s common language was rather difficult to write in compared to that of Prime; of course, Hordak had rarely handwritten in Prime’s armada. Typically, Prime simply extracted memories and typed them out as he pleased. A more efficient way of doing things, without any unreliability from the troops.

“Tell me, Lord Hordak, do you know why so many species populate Etheria?”

“It was a trading hub once, correct?”

“Yes. After their victory in the Seventh Cycle War, the First Ones set up Etheria as a trading hub, an intergalactic market. However, all who know magic know that magic radiates from the very ground of Etheria. There is something deep within, something crafted by the precursors of this world. Unfortunately, the First Ones disappeared one day. Curse that Mara.”

“Mara?” Hordak asked.

“The She-Ra,” Angella said.

“What is a She-Ra?” Hordak asked. He could vaguely recall the word spoken in one of Prime’s logs.

“The She-Ra was the finest warrior, the chosen among chosen. The purest of First Ones blood, the most powerful in the land. With the Sword of Power in her hand, she could do battle with any who sought to defeat her. She led the Princesses of Power, and the title was passed down. Eventually, one known as Mara took the title. She was corrupted, and sealed Etheria away in this pocket dimension, entirely empty. Not even a star, but for an artificial sun above us and an artificial moon in the night.”

“Why are you expositing like this?” Hordak questioned.

“I simply wanted a history lesson. It took one of the First Ones’ own to defeat them. We are chosen by the First Ones. What makes you think _you_ , hellish spawn of Horde Prime, can defeat _us_?”

Hordak passed the paper across the table. She signed. Then, she raised a finger.

“I have a final term. I think you ought to agree to it, albeit not on paper. As of yesterday, all of the Princesses signed over their kingdoms and runestones to me. They are no longer my allies; now, they serve me as my vassals. I will be crowned Empress tomorrow. No more is there a Princess Alliance. Now, we are a Hegemony. Do you, Lord Hordak, agree to face off against an empire rather than a set of separate kingdoms?”

Hordak breathed in sharply.

“Of course,” he said.

“Good,” Angella said. “I hope, then, that your loss will come quickly, and that fate will have mercy. I have nothing of the sort. Soon, you will worship not a Queen, but the Empress of Etheria.”

He walked off to the speeder, the Empress behind him. To an extent, he could not deny that he pitied her. She had lost her husband, the love of her life. Still, that life was one which would not end. Hordak’s years, however, were being counted down, ticking away like the hands upon a clock. He had to prove himself to Prime. Prime was the only one who could fix him.

The leader of the Horde mounted his speeder, standing upon its platform. As it drove away, he wondered why exactly it was that Angella had chosen this war. He had his motives, to be sure, to prove himself to Prime. Yet, he had not been the aggressor, at least not initially. No, when he had conquered Scorpion Hill, he had tried to hide his existence until the time was right. To this day, Hordak was unsure if Angella had even known about him when she had attacked the Fright Zone for the first time. Of course, she certainly knew now.

Hordak tried not to think too hard about these things. After all, it was the role of great minds to think. He was not a great mind. Lord Hordak was a conqueror.

One month of a truce would be enough. Two would be plenty. Lord Hordak hoped Shadow Weaver would recover, vile as she was, and that he would be able to regain his forces. Still, the Alliance had him on the back foot. He needed more than just time.

Then he recalled that the Alliance had fallen. Instead, he would face the Princess Hegemony, linked more closely and ruled by Angella. He shuddered at the thought.

So, alongside King Micah had the Queen perished.

Long live the Empress.

**~Hegemony~**

Glimmer set out tea across a glass table, tea in small, white, porcelain cups. Ceramic coasters were beneath the cups, and as Catra looked, she saw steam rising, marking the heat of the tea. It was a small room, likely the private quarters of Princess Glimmer, judging by the sheer yet visibly pink curtains, with a queen-sized, fluffy white bed. Catra resisted her instinct to pounce upon the bed and never leave it.

Bow calmly sipped some of the tea. Adora uneasily looked across the table and its contents. Glimmer seemed initially to be staring at Catra, but then Catra noticed she was staring off into space. Probably thinking of some insolent little insult to sling at her again. Catra herself, on the other hand, had her arms crossed and her head down, looking at her tea.

“So, how have you guys been?” Bow asked awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

“The part where you kidnapped us was fun,” Catra said.

Adora snickered slightly under her breath. Catra drummed her fingers along her arms and her feet along the floor. Glimmer rose from the table abruptly, and walked over, rubbing her head. If Catra knew anything, she was probably nursing a headache. Good for her.

Bow took a sip of his tea. “Look, I really am sorry about that. We expected Lord Hordak or Shadow Weaver.”

“Trust me,” Catra said. “If it had been Lord Hordak or Shadow Weaver, we wouldn’t be sitting here drinking tea.”

Bow chuckled at that. “Probably not,” he said. “Still, it’s fun to imagine the look on Hordak’s face when he realized he got beaten by two nineteen-year-olds.”

Catra took a moment, and then nodded. Indeed, as a nineteen-year-old herself, she could verify that she’d find that rather comical. Bow sipped his tea again, finishing off the cup.

“Thank you for the tea, Glimmer.”

He had spoken it with sincerity. Catra supposed she was thankful; in the Horde, someone who dealt with this would find themself in a prison cell rather than the Princess’s chambers. She had little doubt Angella did this solely to spite her daughter, but at least it was more comfortable than rotting away behind a force-field.

No matter the motive, something good was something good. That was something Catra had learned a long time ago. It didn’t matter why someone did something, provided it benefitted you. Shadow Weaver may have been a cruel person, but she had taught her ward some valuable lessons, that one included prominently among them. If you could twist something to make it useful, you should do it the first chance you get.

Bow checked a data pad, which was silver. Its bright blue screen flashed on and off a couple times, and he sighed. He tapped it, swiping across it. “They really need time, huh? You’d think they’d get here sooner, being Princesses and all.”

Catra sighed, and reached for her tea. Taking it, she began to drink, only to spit it out. It was _absurdly_ hot. She looked at Bow, who shrugged, and then at Glimmer, who was beginning to sleep. Looking at the Princess’s cup, Catra found that it was empty.

“What?” Catra asked.

“I drugged her tea,” Bow said. “She was nursing a headache but she wouldn’t sleep. She’ll thank me later.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Catra asked.

“Calm down,” Bow said. “We do this routinely. Glimmer’s a bit of a workaholic, if I’ve gotta be honest. Not her fault.”

Adora shuffled with her hands. Bow adjusted the collar of his shirt. Catra tried to take another sip of her tea.

“Besides,” Bow said. “We need to talk. Angella’s vague. She’s constantly on with the maternal speech patterns and the ‘destiny, prophecy’ stuff. It’s fine if you’re the ruler of the Hegemony, but a lot of the time, people actually need to _know_ stuff. So, I’m gonna give you the breakdown on things. Sorry to be such an absolute _prick_ yesterday, by the way. Putting on appearances and all.”

“You still wanna invade the Fright Zone,” Adora mumbled.

Bow raised a finger to his mouth, and then pointed at Adora, nodding aggressively. Adora raised an eyebrow, shuffling her hands no longer and looking up. Catra narrowed her gaze curiously.

“Of course I do,” he said. “It’s my job. I’m the only non-Princess on the entire Council, and I’ve gotta pull my weight every second of it. If I don’t always have some new strategy, I may as well not even be on the council. Fortunately, this is me we’re talking about.”

“You’re on a council?”

“Yeah, the Hegemonic Council. It’s Princesses, and _me_. You wanna know who’s responsible for Horde supply lines getting cut? Me. The constant siege on the barrier? All me. I’m not perfect by any means, of course; actually, I tend to be a bit of an idiot if I’m being honest, but I do have some value.”

“You’re still Hegemony scum,” Adora said.

“Ah,” Bow said, again raising a finger. “I’d say that’s one way to look at it, but let’s be honest, Adora-- may I call you Adora?”

Adora nodded.

“Neither party is really that good, Adora. At the moment, the Hegemony is the one that’s winning, and so I’m with them. If it had gone the other way, I’d be with the Horde.”

Catra looked at Glimmer on the bed. Somehow, from their interactions, she had come to doubt that Bow would be with the Horde under any circumstances. Bow clasped his hands, and looked at his teacup.

“I think you guys are gonna find out that I’m not a bad guy,” he said. “I get how I made a bad first impression, I really did. Not to just throw my character sheet on the table-- do you guys have tabletop games in the Horde?”

Catra nodded. Shadow Weaver had confiscated the materials, of course, but she had stolen a set of dice and some sheets of cheap paper. They had played plenty of games with them as a kid. Catra, Adora, Lonnie, Kyle, Rogelio. They had all played games together like friends. Then, one day, Lonnie didn’t want to play anymore. The other two followed along, no matter Catra’s demands. It was just her and Adora, and you couldn’t really play an extensive campaign with just two people, even if you tried; Catra had, of course, tried.

“Yeah,” he said. “So, not to lay out my character sheet too much, but I’m the closest thing to a good guy around here. I don’t like the kudzu, don’t like the whole ‘magic is better’ thing, and I would end the war without firing a shot if I could.”

“How?” Catra asked.

“I’d come to a white peace with Lord Hordak. He’s losing.”

Catra laughed. “Hordak’s not exactly the sort of man who would agree to white peace. He’d say something along the lines of ‘I reject your peace, now get out’ and then he would probably shoot at you.”

Bow chuckled in turn. “Shoot at me with what?”

Catra took a second to think. She hadn’t recalled Hordak taking to the field. Rumor held that he had, once, but now he no longer did. She recalled that there was something strange about his left arm, some stilted movements, but she couldn’t figure out what wound he had upon it or how it had been injured. She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “Probably with some sort of laser cannon.”

“Rumor did have him wielding a laser cannon once. Still, he hasn’t taken to the field in a very long time. Most of the Horde hasn’t, actually.”

“Yeah,” Adora confirmed.

“If I had to, I’d have my people take Hordak down, but I wouldn’t even bother in all likelihood. If it were up to me, Catra? I’d have just settled already. Why do we need the Fright Zone? Nobody’s hurt by you guys having it. As long as you aren’t attacking us, I don’t see why we should attack you. Still, I’m not in charge.”

Catra nodded. Glimmer began to snore rather loudly. Adora stifled a laugh, and Bow looked back to her.

“You two friends?” Catra asked. “More?”

Bow’s expression suddenly went to a scowl. Catra knew she had asked the wrong thing. Still, he regained his composed state with only a momentary lapse.

“Yeah,” Bow said. “We’re friends, you could say that. And more, I guess you could say we’re more too. It’s complicated.”

“How complicated?”

Bow sighed. “I’m a commoner, which means someday, Glimmer’s gonna marry a Princess for diplomatic reasons and forget all about me. Or, at least, she _will_ if she’s going to take the throne, but she’s _not_ going to take the throne, because Angella won’t stand for that. There was a time she loved Glimmer, you know.”

“Now?” Catra asked.

“King Micah’s dead. All Angella can see is a spiteful reminder of him every time she looks in her eyes. Besides, she’s immortal; she doesn’t have a _reason_ to have a kid. Honestly, I think it’s a miracle Angella hasn’t tried to kill Glimmer yet.”

“She’s not very nice?” Catra asked sarcastically.

“I think you’re being a little harsh,” Adora said. “Angella’s definitely not good, yeah, I’ve gotta agree with you, but I don’t think she hates her own kid.”

Catra gave Adora the side-eye to end all side-eyes, and then took another sip of her tea. Finally, it had cooled down. It tasted rather nice, actually, with just a slight hint of cinnamon. The thief couldn’t help but wonder where this sort of thing had been while she was eating ration bars in the Fright Zone.

Bow was cold. “Let me be clear. Angella does not care about Glimmer. She feigns it, of course, but she _despises_ her. In fairness, Glimmer can be a bit of a brat, but that’s no reason to do what she does.”

“I get the sense you don’t like her,” Catra said.

“I’m not a traitor by any means, but no. I’m not particularly fond of ‘her divinity.’ She’s got us in a pointless war to avenge someone who wouldn’t have wanted vengeance, she’s grandiloquent beyond belief, and plus, I do care about Glimmer, even if I’m forced to.”

“You’re forced to?” Adora asked. “Forced to care about someone?”

“Glimmer’s not the best tactical mind. Not dumb either, not by any margin, but Angella wouldn’t even let her on the Council until I credited her with a few of my ideas. She’s not incompetent, but Angella can’t see that. She just wanted an excuse to keep her away from power.”

“I get it,” Adora said softly, turning to Catra for a second.

Suddenly, Catra felt ashamed. Ashamed, was that the feeling? Her face went red, her hands shook. It was a combination of anxiety and simple feeling, and despite her reddening face, she felt colder than she ever had in the Fright Zone. Her hands were practically freezing.

To alleviate the feeling, she dunked her hands into the tea. While it wasn’t scalding anymore, she still pulled them out after a couple seconds. Bow looked almost confused, but offered her a small handkerchief from the table anyways. Adora grabbed her arms, and began to wash her hands off. The two shared a look, and Catra muttered a few rather vulgar things under her breath. Bow looked at Glimmer, and wandered over to the bed. He placed a hand on her forehead gently, and looked at the two.

“Angella’s been pushing us together since we were kids. Again, she’s immortal. She’s never been worried about heirs or bloodlines. The best way to devalue her own child was to push her into the arms of someone without a drop of noble blood. My dads were just two scholars.”

“Well, that’s not very nice,” Adora said. “Still, you two seem to like each other. Maybe she just saw the two of you as friends and thought you’d be a good couple.”

Bow ran his right hand through his hair. “Empress Angella doesn’t make decisions because of gossip or drama, Adora. She’s not on our playing field. Angella’s every last move is part of a ploy, a strategy. That was on the road out when she fell for Micah. He would have eased her pain.”

“Pain?” Catra asked enthusiastically. “What are Angella’s weaknesses?”

Bow laughed uproariously. Glimmer grabbed his hand, pawing at his wrist, and then let go, murmuring in her sleep. The archer moved back to his chair. He adjusted the golden cushion upon it, and then gestured to Adora’s tea.

“You haven’t drank any tea,” he said.

“I mean, you did drug hers.”

“I don’t know,” Bow said. “Are you nursing a nasty headache?”

“No,” Adora said.

“Right,” Bow said. “I do it a lot. Glimmer’s not always in great health.”

“She can kick the crap out of me, though,” Catra admitted.

“She could do that to pretty much anyone. She’s strong, deadly, fast, pretty smart too. Vicious, to boot. She got banned from the sparring grounds because she almost killed Perfuma in a sparring match. She had her in the first minute. Teleported behind her.”

Bow’s eyes glazed over as he told the story. It was as though he was recalling more than a memory; it was like he was retelling a nightmare. He took a deep breath, and the arbalist continued to regale them with Glimmer’s deeds.

“She… wow, it’s hard to explain. There’s context. Angella had told her that she should be more like Perfuma. Quieter, more reverent to her authority. Of course, Perfuma literally couldn’t speak at the time. Then she put them in a match. There was no way Perfuma was going to win, and we all knew it; none of us, though, not even Angella, none of us expected the way it went. Glimmer blasted her into the dirt. Then she did it again. Again. Again.”

His hands began to shake.

“Glimmer just kept going. Not even launching blasts anymore. She just started kicking and stomping. Now, Perfuma’s not weak. If she had a chance, she could have restrained Glimmer, stopped her. Never happened. She was unconscious by the second minute. The other Princesses were just looking.”

Catra looked to Adora. She was enraptured, albeit not in a good way. There was visible horror and perplexion on her face. Not since Catra clawed out Octavia’s eye had Adora had that expression on her face.

“They stared. They watched, but none of them stepped in. Eventually, I did it. I rushed over there. I wrapped Glimmer in my arms, and she just… she cried. She just _sobbed_ , she asked me why Angella didn’t care, why Perfuma was so much better, why _everyone_ was so much better. I looked over at the Princesses; Glimmer’s boots were leaving red stains in the dirt. Mermista and Netossa picked Perfuma up and took her to get a healer, but Glimmer just sat there. Then, I looked to Angella.”

Bow clutched his cup tighter, tighter even. Then, it broke in his hands, shattering on the table. A slight cut formed on his hand, and he merely placed his other hand over it, the shards of the cup on the table below. He extended a hand and took from Catra the handkerchief, and picked up the shards.

“These were expensive,” Bow said. “I’ll get a mage to reconstruct them. If Angella thinks Glimmer might’ve broken the cup, she’ll be in huge trouble.”

“What about the story?” Adora asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Bow said. “Yes, I looked at Angella. She was standing there, watching. _Smiling_. Glimmer almost killed another Princess, and now, I’m pretty sure, I can’t guarantee anything, but I’m pretty sure that was the only time Angella was ever proud of her.”

“Wow,” Adora said.

“How much of that is true?” Catra asked skeptically.

“Some of it,” Bow said casually. “Some of it, I may have embellished, and obviously it’s skewed from my perspective. Still, most of it happened. About eighty percent?”

“Works for me,” Catra said. “Eighty percent is enough, as long as the twenty percent wasn’t important. So, tell me about Dryl.”

Bow perked up immediately, the grimness gone from his expression. He smiled happily, and began rifling through the drawer left of Glimmer’s bed. Finally, he removed a miniature datapad.

“This is all the information we have on the mountains of Dryl. Technically, it’s illegal, but I keep it around in my drawer.”

“Illegal?” Adora asked.

“Yeah,” Bow said. “Angella refuses to recognize any claim on Dryl. She believes it’s rightfully hers.”

“So, wait,” Adora said. “Why does she think it’s hers?”

“Well,” Bow said. “Angella isn’t a big believer in the idea that someone can just be a Princess without a runestone. The idea actually kind of offends her as far as I can tell. She allows Netossa and Spinnerella to rule their own kingdom, but they surrendered right off the bat. They knew when to fold.”

“You mean they were cowards,” Catra said.

“You were the one who gave away the secret of the Black Garnet,” Bow responded.

Catra couldn’t help but admit he was right on that one. After a brief moment of thinking, she decided that Netossa and Spinnerella were not cowards for their surrender; it was only the logical course of action. She would have done the same if put in that situation. Well, honestly, Catra would surrender in any situation.

There was no dishonor in surrender, despite Catra’s proclamations otherwise. Often, she wondered why Hordak did not simply surrender to the Hegemony. Surely, his punishment would be harsh, but anything was better than dying, except maybe dying, being resurrected, and then dying again. That would suck, but thankfully, that was never going to happen.

Glimmer raised her fist and shouted something to the sky. Bow turned back to her, and then she collapsed. He gave a smile, and then walked over to the bed. He gently moved the blankets over her body, and she snored. He ran a hand through her hair as gently as he could, and then turned to the others.

“You’ve gotta understand,” he said. “I do care about her. I really do. I care about Bright Moon, about the entire Hegemony. It’s hard. I hope someday you two will see that we’re not evil. Not even Angella.”

“Angella’s not evil?” Catra asked, again skeptical.

“No,” Bow said. “She’s dangerous, but she’s not _evil_.”

“I’m pretty sure using prison labor, trying to conquer the world, and abusing your daughter makes you evil.”

“Angella’s broken,” Bow said. “She’s got years of First Ones rhetoric behind her. She’s got problems, yeah, but I wouldn’t call her evil any more than I’d call Lord Hordak evil.”

“You guys do call us the _Evil_ Horde,” Adora said.

“Yes,” Bow said. “It’s propaganda, all of it. That’s the problem. We’ve taught ourselves that each side is a faceless legion, but in the end, it’s just the leaders who’re the problem. They want the world, so they sacrifice us to get it. We can’t trust the Empress, or Lord Hordak, but we can trust each other, right?”

Bow rose from his seat to face Adora. He went to his knees, and extended his left hand. Adora, in confusion, took his hand. Catra noticed quickly that Bow had something in his right hand, something shiny and clear. Catra reached out a hand, but it was too late. He plunged it into Adora’s bicep. It pierced the skin and she yelped.

Catra pounced on Bow with the fury of a protective beast. She pinned him to the wall, and he opened his left hand, showing nothing. His right, however, remained closed. Catra raised her clawed hand, and slowly slashed into the marble wall behind Bow. He looked at her, no fear on his face.

“Calm down,” he ordered Catra.

“Don’t order me around,” Catra responded. “You hurt Adora!”

“It was just a sting,” Adora said.

Catra dragged her claws nearer to Bow’s arm.

“Talk, or you’re gonna need a new arm.”

“Calm down,” Bow repeated. “You want to know what’s in my hand? It’s a blood test. Angella told me to get it, and I thought it was easiest to get here.”

“Why didn’t you just ask?” Adora asked.

Bow chuckled. “Didn’t know you’d say yes, and if you’d said no, I would’ve had to fight you. Thought I’d just cut out the middleman and get it right now, so that even if I had to fight you, I’d have it.”

Catra lowered her claw a bit more, now an inch from his tricep. “That actually makes sense,” she admitted.

“Yeah,” Bow said. “Now could you please stop trying to rip my arm off? That’d be very inconvenient.”

Catra reluctantly stepped back. There was a knocking on the door, just in time. Catra turned to Bow, and he approached the door. He opened it.

There they stood. Two. Even Catra could feel the power which radiated from them, light and darkness alike. Empress Angella stood, clad in her robes, while Shadow Weaver did as well, clad in her own robes of crimson, tendrils extending from her very shadow. She hovered along the ground in a manner best described as uncanny, her black-nailed fingers curling inward and outward as she entered the room. She took a seat next to Adora, stealing the chair of Catra, who had just backed away from Bow. Catra resisted her urge to snarl and strike back.

Empress Angella, however, conjured a chair of crystal. It didn’t look like the most comfortable chair, but it would do its job. She crossed her legs, and looked at Glimmer. Then, she looked to Bow.

“Another one of her headaches?” she asked Bow. The archer nodded. “I’ve told you to let her deal with them. She needs to learn to handle pain.”

“I will,” Bow said, looking ashamedly at the floor.

“Good,” responded Angella, moving her hand to Bow’s chin. “How does she fare, even now?”

Bow sighed. “She’s fine.”

“Good,” said Shadow Weaver, slurring her words. Catra at once noticed the small goblet in her hand, likely filled with her special mixture of “medicine,” as she had once called it. All knew what it was.

“So,” Angella said. “Let us have business.”

Shadow Weaver’s eyes lit up. “Lord Hordak desires both wards returned. I will settle for Adora alone.”

Catra’s heart sank. She wasn’t sure why it did so; she knew this was going to happen. Really, it had been inevitable. Shadow Weaver would do anything to save Adora, but couldn’t care less for Catra. In her little time here, Angella had treated her better than Shadow Weaver ever had. Angella’s treatment of Catra had been above that of her own child. Shadow Weaver had never done anything for Catra that didn’t benefit _her_. Still, despite all that, despite her knowledge, Catra couldn’t help but curl up against the wall.

Adora had always been worth everything. Catra was a lowly thief. A rascal, a scoundrel. Mooching off of Adora’s successes, never worth it on her own. If not for Adora, Catra would be dead a thousand times over. Shadow Weaver would have killed Catra herself if not for Adora, as far as Catra could tell. She found her in a box, a box outside the Fright Zone. If you were to ask Shadow Weaver, the box was worth more.

Adora looked at Catra. She walked over, and extended a hand. Bow looked at the syringe, and handed it to Angella. She nodded, and poured the blood into her hand. It began to glow, and Angella’s eyes widened. Catra knew the look of a woman with a secret, but she would never tell.

“Unfortunately, I would like the opposite of that offer,” Angella said. “I will happily keep Adora, if you will take Catra. Originally, I was just going to ask for the Black Garnet.”

Shadow Weaver’s eyes widened. She turned to Catra, and approached her. Catra cowered as Shadow Weaver raised her hand to deliver a blow, but then the sorcerer kneeled and pressed a hand to her cheek. She leaned in close.

“You gave it away?” she asked.

Catra nodded meekly.

“You have failed me again,” Shadow Weaver said. “I feed you. I gave you the clothes on your back.”

Adora raised a hand. “Actually, Lord Hordak is responsible for feeding her, and I’m pretty sure she bought that outfit off the black market.”

Adora went silent when Shadow Weaver looked at her.

“You are ungrateful,” Shadow Weaver said. “You betray me easily, when Adora would not falter.”

Adora’s expression grew intense, like that of one who was in an enraged stupor. Catra looked up at Shadow Weaver. How tempting it was to slash that mask from her face, to throw her words back at her and turn her robe to shreds. Instead, Catra remained silent. Tears began to well in her eyes.

“You want my power, girl?” Shadow Weaver asked. “You think Angella will reward you?”

Angella walked over, and placed a hand on Shadow Weaver’s arm. At once, the sorcerer stepped back. Angella extended a hand, and then helped Catra to her feet.

“In light of recent information, I cannot trade Adora. There are further tests to run on the child.”

“I’m nineteen,” Adora said. “I’m not a child.”

Angella turned back to her. “I am immortal. By my standard, you are all children.”

“All but Micah,” Shadow Weaver said. “How is my apprentice?” she asked.

Bow immediately backed away, approaching the bed. Angella’s hands flickered. She stared Shadow Weaver in the eyes.

“Don’t want to break our agreement, now do we?” Shadow Weaver asked. “You could turn me to ash right now, but if you did, Lord Hordak would be quite unhappy. In fact, I think your forces wouldn’t survive a day if he decided to begin ending lives again. After all, you do blame him _so_ for the death of the former king of these lands.”

Angella smiled. It was cold. Her eyes were as furious as they had been before, flickering through a variety of colors. One moment they were red, the next violet and the next a bright blue. Finally, they settled on a bright pink.

“You’re right,” she said. “I can’t kill you. For those comments, however, I can assure you that when we win-- believe me, we will win; when we win, I will ensure that you do not die, _ever_. A little piece of my immortality, split with you, so that I can stomp you into the dirt a thousand times and slowly, _slowly_ take pieces from your form! Tell me now, Shadow Weaver, do you desire to live forever if eternal life means _eternal pain_? I will not take from you merely your physical form, however; I am not an amateur. No, I will tear from you that which you love most, something I loved as much as I did Micah. Lord Hordak, perhaps? No, he is of no relevance to you. No, no, I shall take from your grasp _Adora_. A child for a husband, Shadow Weaver? Is that what you desire, an even trade?”

Shadow Weaver now leaned against the wall. Adora wasn’t even concerned. She and Catra both knew Angella was bluffing, but Shadow Weaver had no knowledge of such things. Shadow Weaver shook. Her knees bent. She attempted to channel a magical orb, crimson and black, but Angella level-headedly placed a hand over it, reducing it to steam as though water on flame.

“Now, now. Today is not the time for mindless threats and taunts,” Angella said. “Today, we have come for bargains. I raise my price. The Black Garnet and Adora, in exchange for Catra.”

Catra snarled. Finally, as if on reflex, she rose to her feet. She looked to Adora, who shook her head.

“I won’t be a consolation prize!” Catra said. “I won’t be second best to Adora!”

Angella moved a finger. Catra flew against the wall, pinned to it as Shadow Weaver now was. Angella paced around the room, in mock stress. The Empress hummed a little song, and then looked at the two.

“I raise my price again,” Angella said. “You will take Catra in exchange for the Black Garnet, Adora, and the Fright Zone.”

Shadow Weaver coughed. “I cannot trade away the Fright Zone.”

“Oh, I know,” Angella said. “I didn’t for a moment think we could make a bargain.”

With a snap of her fingers, they were all in the throne room. Catra and Shadow Weaver were no longer pinned. They were on the floor, while Adora and Bow sat in chairs on each side of the throne. Glimmer was nowhere to be seen.

“I do want to show you something, though,” Angella said. With her right hand, she levitated the Sword of Power, its blue blade still embedded in the stone. “Adora, my child, would you please approach this?”

Catra’s eyes widened. No. This couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t just second best. She was _worse_. If what she thought was true, if whatever was happening was happening, if Adora could do what Angella expected, she would be worse than just second best. She would be nothing.

She didn’t want to be nothing. Adora wasn’t nothing, Shadow Weaver wasn’t nothing. It was easy to cast someone like Catra aside, so easy. To abandon them and treat them as though they were nothing. Shadow Weaver let out a resigned sigh, knowing what was coming.

“How long have you known?” asked Angella.

“All my life,” Shadow Weaver said. “The brat kept Adora from being able to access her power. If not for her, Adora would have done this so long ago.”

Worse than second best, worse than even nothing. Catra was just that, a roadblock. She was the only thing holding Adora back, the sole thing keeping Adora from reaching her true potential. She sniffled meekly, not even able to cry. She gritted her teeth and held back her tears. She wanted to think that this couldn’t be, but she knew it was the only reality she had.

Adora reached for the hilt of the Sword of Power almost on instinct. Angella smiled. “Of two blades, this was the one we received. This and the Sword of Protection alike contain within them incredible, pure, untouched power.”

Adora’s grip tightened around it. Her eyes began to glow. Her hair went down immediately, and she smiled. Her veins began to light with all colors of the rainbow, her muscle increasing. Catra reached out to her as her clothes disintegrated, turning her to a being clad in a white robe, which flowed with a wind that was not there and billowed in the air. Shadow Weaver backed away, and all could feel the power that Angella spoke of.

“The First Ones were generous,” the Empress said. “They granted us this.”

Adora’s transformation was complete. She stood taller than before, stronger, more muscular and with eyes glowing first blue, then red. The blade of blue turned to one of red. “Now,” the Empress said. “You of the First Ones blood, speak at last the words.”

Adora smiled. “By the power of Miro!” she cried out, the blade shifting to gold and her eyes doing the same. She smiled harshly as her skin turned chalk-white, not unlike that of Lord Hordak, and her eyes, all but the golden pupils, turned black.

“ _Power_ ,” Adora hissed. No, this was not Adora. She was corrupted, her veins running black and her nails turned to gold. Her teeth had grown sharp. Shadow Weaver leapt back.

“No,” Catra said, rising to her feet.

Adora pulled the Sword from its stone. The rock shattered, and she turned to Empress Angella. “Rise, Adora. Now, it is not merely First Ones blood which runs through your veins, but that of House Miro, noble and pure. You are chosen to be the She-Ra, none others like you.”

Shadow Weaver reached out a hand. The _She-Ra_ stepped down the stairs, approaching Catra. Catra reached out a hand.

“She will have a place with us,” Angella said. “Your first order, She-Ra, is to prove your loyalty. How you do that is up to you.”

Adora grinned, and raised her sword above Shadow Weaver’s head. The sorcerer looked up at her, eyes wide, and then tilted her head down. Adora cackled wickedly, the vestiges of her sanity seemingly gone.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this!” she shouted maniacally, before she plunged the blade into Shadow Weaver’s mask.

Shadow Weaver looked up at her, and with a mere slash, Adora reduced the mask to shards. The sorcerer’s scarred face looked up, shocked at being spared by the mercy of the She-Ra. Adora twirled the blade, and then turned, kneeling to Empress Angella.

“Take my blade in your fight,” she said. “Take my form, my power. I am She-Ra, above all, and the only reason I spare Shadow Weaver is because of the laws of our war.”

“Adora,” Catra said. “Adora, this isn’t you.”

The She-Ra turned to her. She had something sick in her eyes, staring icily toward Catra. The thief was nearly slain by the mere gaze of the most powerful being in Etheria.

“I can turn worlds to ash with my every thought,” the being that was once Adora said. “I can slay countless. Why would I turn back into Adora? Oh, no, I know exactly why. In fact, if you love Adora so much, you can talk to her. Of course, you can talk to her without a bit of the reservation she always carries, the restraint she has.”

Catra looked on in horror as the muscles faded, as the fanged mouth turned to that of a normal one. Her skin became less pale, her eyes went back to their normal coloration, albeit with the pupils remaining gold. The robe remained around her shoulders.

“ _Hey, Catra_ ,” she said.

Catra began to hyperventilate.

“I can’t, I can’t resist saying what I want to. I… I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay,” Catra said.

“No,” Adora said, growing stern. “It’s not okay. Because _I hate you_!”

Catra backed away. “Wh-what?”

“You want to take this away from me? I just, I just became a demigod, Catra, and the first thing you said was that it wasn’t me. You don’t want me to have a bit of power, do you? You don’t want to face the truth, do you? No, the truth is too hard for you to face.”

Catra mumbled and stuttered, coughing as she ran out of breath.

“No,” Adora said. “No, I hate you, Catra. Every time I’ve wanted to sleep. When I’ve wanted to have friends. When I’ve wanted to live basic life. You’re always on the edge, Catra. You’re my friend, but you don’t want me to go anywhere or do anything. You’ll let me hurt you so you can throw it back in my face later. It’s always a joke with you, a joke until it’s suddenly serious. I’ve spent every second of my life suppressing everything, every bit of my potential. Thanks to you, I never got to train in magic and get the approval of Lord Hordak. I never got to just spend time with Lonnie, with Kyle, with Rogelio. You’ve got me in a place where you’re the only friend I can ever have, and the only power I will have ever have is power you let me have. I could be so strong, so good, but I’ll never meet that potential because you’ll never let me! All because you can’t admit it.”

Catra stuttered over herself and clawed at the floor. She collapsed completely, gasping for breath and coughing madly. She began to dig her claws into her arms, screaming and sobbing. Empress Angella, Shadow Weaver, they didn’t lift a finger. Bow had averted his eyes.

“What can’t you admit?” Adora asked, approaching. The sword was against Catra’s chin. Her tears ran down its tip.

“I…”

“No, not _you_. It’s not about you, Catra. What can’t you admit?”

“Please…”

Catra shrieked impotently. Tears welled in Adora’s eyes. She couldn’t help it, and Catra knew. Somehow, she knew it was Adora saying these words. Not She-Ra, not the Sword. This was Adora, the girl that had been Catra’s only defense and only friend.

“What can’t you admit? Go ahead, Catra. Nobody will hear but us. Whisper it. I just want to see it on your lips.”

“I…”

“You can come with me if you just say it, Catra. Let me have it. Let me have _this_. This little bit of vindication, this catharsis.”

Catra’s tears ceased to flow. She grew cold. Her lips quivered, but she looked up.

“I will never let you have _anything_ ,” Catra said. “Without me, Adora, you’re _nothing_.”

Adora looked taken aback, and then she shifted into the bestial form of the She-Ra again. She paced across the floor, and looked at Catra. “Get them out of my sight,” the Empress commanded.

The Sword faded from She-Ra’s hands. Before Catra knew it, she was outside the city. Shadow Weaver had tears welling in her own eyes, running through the tears in her flesh and scars across her gray skin.

Catra and Shadow Weaver were mounted onto a horse, riding away. She-Ra walked beside them casually. At last, they stopped, right in the middle of the Whispering Woods, right next to the speeder. For a moment, everything faded, and Adora was back. Her eyes remained golden, but she looked at them.

“What’re you doing?” Catra asked.

“Sparing you,” Adora said, her voice torn and ragged. “No prisons. No deaths. Honor, Catra, something you’ve never had. I’m going to let you go, but only so I can have the fun of killing you myself someday.”

Adora didn’t mean it. Catra felt her arms begin to bleed due to the scratching. Adora looked aside, wincing and flinching.

“I can’t resist it,” she admitted. “Not just that, I want it. I’m not gonna be me for long now.”

She took Catra’s hand in hers. “Listen,” she said. “You need, you need to go. Now. Before I become something else thanks to this damn Sword.”

“No,” Catra said. “You don’t get to leave me, not again!”

Adora sighed. “Catra, grow up. Please. I care about you. I… I do. You’re hurt, but you’ve made your own choices. _Grow up_. You don’t get to be a clingy child forever. You need to change who you are. I can’t spend my whole life suppressing who I am because of you, setting myself back so you can have your half of my reward, just because nobody else will give you anything. Just because life is unfair for you doesn’t mean it has to be unfair for me too. I’m sorry, Catra. I really am. I never wanted this path.”

“Come back for me?” Catra asked, eyes wide.

“No,” Adora said. “Not this time. This time, you come back for me.”

“That’s not fair,” Catra said. “That’s-- that’s not fair, Adora. You can’t do this to me.”

She was walking away as Shadow Weaver dragged Catra onto the speeder. “You don’t get to do this to me,” Catra said. “You can’t do this, it’s not fair. Adora, I need you, Adora, please. Adora. A-Adora.”

Adora was gone. Black eyes looked back. Shadow Weaver activated the speeder, sending them away. There was something that could be heard, however, all throughout the Whispering Woods. Were Catra’s lungs stronger, Etheria itself would hear her cry, among the most anguished things screamed in all of its history; it was nothing of note, nothing but the pure rage and horror of a young woman who had just seen her entire world disappear in a blur of motion. It was the cry that could begin and end wars, in the form of one name.

The rest of the ride was silent.

**~Hegemony~**

Adora could feel more. There was power, to be sure, there was always power, but this was stronger than power. It was as though a tidal wave, composed entirely of memories; for a few moments, Adora couldn’t tell which thoughts were her own.

Then it all ceased. She was herself again. The world was new to her, one where she finally understood. This was the Princess Hegemony. The paradise of the First Ones. It was a bastion of pure, beautiful power.

Power. She’d never cared for power before; it had always been arbitrary to her. The only way someone got power was by claiming to have it, even if they didn’t. Adora had never been too invested in pretending to be powerful, or clawing her way up the ranks of a faction. The way she had seen it, it was all okay. It was her and Catra, fighting against whatever winds would blow their way. Well, it was more like it was just her, with Catra hiding behind her.

Catra. She walked away. There was something in her mind, some capacity for feelings that had never run through her mind before. Hate. She hadn’t hated before, or at least, she’d never been honest about hate before. Now, it had all come out.

There was no going back to the Horde. She was the She-Ra now. Lord Hordak would have her imprisoned. He would cut her up, see what made the She-Ra function. No. Lord Hordak couldn’t manage that. He didn’t have the ability to do it.

She saw flashes of him once, clad in white, doing battle. How odd it was that Adora saw these visions of him on a battlefield, robes flowing in a hellish orange sky, as she wandered through the Whispering Woods, right next to the ghosts which looked identical to him. Well, she knew they couldn’t be ghosts. In all likelihood, they were just holographic presentations.

Adora laughed. As though that was so much better. No, they weren’t ghosts, they were just advanced technology that basically looked, acted like, and functionally were ghosts. Bemused by the sight, Adora wandered to the gates of Bright Moon. She felt invigorated, perpetually enhanced in might and speed. At last, she completed her journey.

A golden wall surrounded the homes of Bright Moon. Its massive bronze gates were a sight to behold, painted with angelic wings on each of the two doors. Atop the wall stood two guards in white robes, carrying halberds. Adora looked to them. She could ask for entry, and they would likely grant it, but she wanted to test something.

With a single blow, the two gates fell. A home behind them was crushed, its denizens staring in awe and horror alike. The new She-Ra couldn’t help but notice how good it felt to watch them stare. Once, the only people who had spoken to her had been Shadow Weaver and Catra. People who had wanted something out of her.

Now? Now, they feared her. Now, people cowered. That was how one was to gain true respect; friendship was a lie. A friend could betray you. A friend could turn your life on its head. Someone afraid of you wouldn’t do that so easily, because they knew you could end their miserable existence.

Then, Adora pressed her hand to the gates. There was an instant mastery, a power. The humble Horde cadet restored the gates, shattering and recomposing them in a simple instant. These were not gates of humble wood either, for they were of bronze and powerful alloy. Still, they were destroyed and repaired in an instant.

Catra and Shadow Weaver’s return to the Fright Zone, she would need to cover. If the Hegemony knew they had the opportunity, they would use the brief opening of the barrier to end the siege in a climactic battle. The ambush would be indescribable, and they would take countless prisoners. Adora may have had a new place, but she was not inclined to give up the Horde so easily. That would lead to Catra and Shadow Weaver alike being imprisoned at best.

Besides, it was best to win such things with honor instead of dirty tactics. That was her belief, and it would always be her firm belief. As the She-Ra opened the doors of the gargantuan palace, bloated to the extent it took up almost half of what had once been the city, she wondered how to introduce herself.

She was greeted at the gates by Bow, who kneeled before her, his eyes open. “She-Ra,” he said.

“Rise, Bow. I’m not any better than you.”

Bow chuckled. “No,” he said. “You’re not.”

Adora raised an eyebrow, but she did nothing. Bow guided her in, and showed her a path directly to the throne room. All the while, he checked his data pad, clearly waiting for something with bated breath. The crossbow, silver and shining due to being recently polished, was slung around his back once again.

Adora entered the throne room. Upon the throne sat again the Empress. Bow kneeled before her, and despite her mind commanding her, ordering her to keep her status, telling her she should kneel to none, Adora did the same. The Sword of Power manifested in her hand, its power astounding even now. She plunged it into the floor.

The Empress smiled in a manner beings were not meant to smile. It was a smile so wide it encompassed her entire face, her teeth bared. Princess Glimmer looked away from the throne, clenching her fists. Angella clasped her hands, barely concealing that sick smile beneath them. Adora supposed that this was her place now.

They had chosen her. She could tell from the expressions that they revered and feared her in equal measure; Glimmer, admittedly, seemed to detest her, but she would come to recognize Adora as being her ally. Angella’s smile did not fade, even as she rose from her throne and stepped down its stairs.

“So, you swear your blade to the Princess Hegemony?”

As though she had another choice. This was her path. She nodded.

“You embrace the destiny laid out for you? To be the blade of the First Ones, warrior above all warriors, healer above all healers? To serve the nature of Etheria, the planet we hold so dear? You swear before the Empress of Etheria and its rightful ruler, chosen by the First Ones to lead, that you, Adora of the Fright Zone, shall now become She-Ra, Princess of Power?”

Adora nodded. It was slow, unconvinced and unconvincing. Angella pressed a hand to Adora’s face, gently running it across her cheek. Adora looked up, eyes wide. She could feel now that she was no more powerful than the Empress; not now, at least, but she would be eventually. It wouldn’t even be long in all likelihood. Adora pressed her palm to the floor.

“You swear to bask Etheria in the golden light of your heart and to serve eternally its interests?”

Adora nodded.

“You swear your sword--”

Her sword. The world faded around her as she looked at the sword. That was her value; it was not Adora herself who was valued here, but the blade in her hand and the power it commanded. For once, Adora finally understood what Catra said of power and of those who sought it. She needed more power, so more would fear her.

What was this temptation? She had never before felt it. Did it come from the Sword of Power, or had it always been there, deep in her heart, clawing, desiring to gnaw through her ribs and rip through her chest so as to emerge and expose itself? Well, it had exposed itself. She supposed she was indeed the She-Ra, the Blade of the First Ones.

“ _Do you_?” Angella asked.

Adora rose to her feet.

“I pledge my blade to the Princess Hegemony,” Adora said. “I pledge it to Etheria, to defense of Etheria and to the power of the one that rules it. I am She-Ra, and anyone who would seek to dispute that can face my power in honorable battle. In other words, if anyone’s got objections, they can challenge me.”

At first, it seemed that none would question her. Then came a blast of pink energy over her shoulder. Angella merely tilted her head, effortlessly avoiding it. Adora clutched her blade tight, and stood strong.

“I challenge you,” Glimmer said. “I should be holding that sword, not you!”

Bow reached out a hand, but Adora dismissed him with a wave of her own. She twirled the weapon in her hands, attuning herself to it in what was but an instant. Glimmer had a valorous look on her face, the look of a young woman who feared nothing.

Adora supposed she would need to teach her fear.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Adora asked.

“Yeah,” Glimmer responded, stepping down from her place by the throne. Her hands sparkled with pink.

“You can quit anytime,” she said.

“You just got that sword,” Glimmer responded. “I’ll be taking it.”

“Did you try to draw it from the stone and failed? Is that what happened?”

Glimmer went silent. Her face went red. The Princess began to shiver furiously, hands lighting up with sparkling power.

“Oh, so scary,” Adora said. “What are you gonna do, throw glitter at me?”

Glimmer smiled. “I’m going to take that weapon from your hands.”

Adora smiled in turn. “I’m not letting it go.”

Glimmer’s eyes twitched madly. She stomped her feet into the ground, and took a stance of battle. The two circled one another, Adora tauntingly playing with her blade, digging its tip into the floor of the palace, slashing and then instantly repairing it.

“Fine,” Glimmer said. “I can’t take the Sword from your hands? I’ll take your hands from your body.”

“Oh!” Adora said boisterously. “Then come on, sparkles, and show me what you can do!”

There was some inexplicable compulsion. It was almost natural to fight her. Maybe it was a desire to validate herself before the Empress, or maybe it was just who she was now. Still, Adora struggled against it for only a moment. Why resist when it felt so right to fight, and she knew she would win? This battle was sure to result in an effortless victory.

Glimmer fired two blasts. Adora reflected them both to the floor with the Sword. Bow backed away, and the throne room was an arena. The She-Ra and the heir of Bright Moon stood before one another. Glimmer fired another two blasts. Adora analyzed her technique.

Glimmer was slow. Surprisingly calculating. She hadn’t underestimated Adora, it seemed. In fact, she was cautious in her every move.

Adora looked to Angella, nonchalantly batting away a fifth blast as she did so. Angella nodded to her, assenting to her strike. Adora charged forth, and swung the flat of the blade toward Glimmer. There was a nanosecond where it seemed she had struck, but then Glimmer was behind her. A blast burned at her back, knocking the wind from her lungs. Adora plunged the blade into the floor again, digging it through.

“Give up,” Glimmer said. “Drop the Sword. It’s _mine_! I’m the Princess of Bright Moon, I’m Angella’s daughter.”

“Do you think I’m here to replace you?” Adora asked. “I don’t know what’s worse, honestly. The fact you think I’m trying to take your place or the fact you think I’d have to _try_.”

Glimmer stood before her. A lock of pink, puffy hair drooped over her eye. Adora and Glimmer faced off again, and then Adora, regaining her breath and healing from the burning blast in the space of two seconds of verbal barbs, turned back.

The throne room was wide and nigh-empty. Plenty of space to fight. Bow, Angella, and every guard stood to the side. Angella looked at Adora.

“Use the sharp edge, my child,” she commanded, that grin returning to her face. Her eyes seemed to pulse as she looked on.

Adora refused, pointedly using the flat again. She was many things, but a killer was not among them. Glimmer launched two more blasts. The first, she reflected into the wall, but the next she sent flying back into the Princess.

“I don’t even have to attack,” Adora said. “I can let you tire yourself out. Between teleporting and blasting, you’re just a charged-up coward. Running away and attacking from afar. Me, on the other hand?”

Adora dematerialized the sword into a bracer on her arm. Glimmer looked on in shock for a second, and then growled. Adora beckoned her onward.

“C’mon, Princess! Let’s see how powerful you are when you attack an unarmed opponent! I know that’s something you’re a fan of.”

Glimmer didn’t hesitate for a second. She unleashed two blasts. Adora ducked, but one streaked across her face, grazing it. A small, pink mark was left on her cheek, right by her nose. She felt the pain fade, but a drop of blood had fallen onto her hand.

“Credit where it’s due!” Adora exclaimed haughtily. “You hit me. Now, let’s see if I can hit back.”

She bounded from the ground with a motion of her heel, leaping several feet into the air. Angella applauded quietly as she landed on the floor with a thunderous strike. Glimmer was gone, but the floor where her fist had struck was cracked, breaking.

Bow reached out a hand, but Angella held him back with an arm. It seemed the Empress was enjoying the fight as much as Adora was. Glimmer, on the other hand, was running out of breath. Adora once more beckoned Glimmer.

“C’mon, Glimmer,” she said. “You can always give up. You and I both know you can’t win.”

“I never give up,” Glimmer said.

Adora was taken aback. She genuinely seemed to want to keep going. She fired two more blasts haphazardly. Both missed. They were weaker than before as well. Glimmer was losing power and concentration, yet she kept going.

With one teleport, Glimmer clearly ran out of power entirely. She stumbled forward. Adora thought it was over.

Instead, she found herself stumbling back. Glimmer’s hands were sparkling in intervals, her blows enhanced by blasts of energy. A clever use of power.

Glimmer had punched her.

She’d _punched_ her. With her fists and everything. Adora backed away and chuckled, a bruise on her cheek healing instantly.

“Alright,” Adora said, shrugging. “I’ll give you that. You hit me again.”

They exchanged blows for a moment, parrying each other’s strikes. Glimmer moved with a surprising ferocity, able to counter every last one of Adora’s blows. The two danced around one another, until their left fists clashed. The bones of Glimmer’s arm made a popping sound. She screamed, and then stumbled back. Her shoulder had been dislocated.

Bow rushed in, but Adora shoved him aside. “You surrender?” she asked Glimmer.

Glimmer laughed in a high pitch, cackling as she set her arm back to its proper place, before letting out another scream of agony. Then, she moved her right arm, firing two weak blasts. They struck Adora in the forehead, but neither had any power behind them. They bounced off.

“Give up,” she said. “Don’t make me hurt you any more.”

Glimmer heaved and coughed. “Told you before,” she said. “I don’t surrender.”

Adora sighed. “Suit yourself.”

There was a Glimmer-shaped hole in the wall. Adora looked at her own bicep in admiration. She was strong, but never had she done that before. Still, she would call it a legitimate victory. Bow immediately rushed out through the hole. Adora smiled.

“Karma, really,” Adora said. “She hit me twice. I hit her once and the wall hit her once. I’d say we’re even.”

Bow carried Glimmer back into the room, her arm hoisted over his shoulder. Adora once more looked at her hand, a streak of red across its back. The blood had dripped off, but even now there was evidence of it remaining. Evidence that Princess Glimmer had managed to hurt her. The most powerful being not entitled Empress. Adora chuckled. If she weren’t so enraged by such a turn of fate, she would honestly be impressed.

Glimmer reached out to Bow’s face, and Adora walked to her. Glimmer looked at her, and a defeated whimper escaped her lips. At once, Adora looked at her hands again. She felt her whole body go numb. Lost, she had been, so lost in the sea of satisfaction that the battle had brought that she hadn’t cared for even a second about the violence of her deeds. Now, Glimmer was breathing, if barely. A bruise was on her forehead.

Adora pressed a hand to her face, but healing did not come. Repairing the door had been easy. Repairing the floor, no challenge whatsoever. Repairing Glimmer, however, she could not do.

“Get her to a healer,” Bow said, clearly realizing what Adora had done.

Glimmer made a rather vulgar gesture with her right arm. The left was bent in a way that could only be described as unnatural. Adora reached out, but Bow gave her an icy glare. She watched as he walked away, Glimmer over his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said as she whined and groaned. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here, Glimmer. I care.”

Adora turned to the Empress. “Do you have the power to heal her?”

Angella nodded.

“Then do it!”

Angella glided down across the floor elegantly. “Do not presume that, since you are She-Ra, you may give me orders, my child. Glimmer has proven time and time again to be strong. She will endure the pain, and she will come out stronger for it.”

Adora gulped. So _this_ was the Empress that they all spoke of as such a cruel being. Bow removed Glimmer from the throne room promptly.

“I will fix you a chamber,” Angella said. “How old are you, my child?”

“Nineteen,” Adora said.

“The same age as Bow, and as Glimmer. You will fit right in, although you are better than both.”

“Don’t say that,” Adora said. “I’m She-Ra. That doesn’t make me better than anyone.”

“You are mistaken,” Angella said. “You are She-Ra indeed. That makes you better than everyone. Unless you wish to go mad, to follow in the footsteps of your predecessor and betray those who granted you this power, you will stay by my side. I will train you.”

Adora looked at the red streak across the back of her hand.

For some reason, she was pretty sure she’d already gone mad.

**~Hegemony~**

It had taken half an hour to haggle their way back into the Fright Zone. Commander Cobalt had led a small squad of robots in clearing out the few geodites that made their way in during the three seconds the barrier had been down. Shadow Weaver had done the talking, but now, they stood in the throne room of Lord Hordak himself; the tyrant overlord of the Horde was pacing back and forth, fuming.

“So…” he said at last, an odd whirring coming from his left arm. “Would you care to again recap the events of this mission?”

“Y-yes,” Catra said. “Adora and I went rogue, went for the Sword of Power. We, uh, thought it’d impress you.”

Shadow Weaver shushed Catra. “The brat and Adora made a foolish move, no doubt brought about by the brat’s egotism. They delivered the Sword into the enemy’s hands.”

“That’s not true,” Catra said, interrupting as Shadow Weaver began another word. “The Hegemony already _had_ the Sword. We were going to retrieve it.”

“Yes,” Hordak said, turning away from them, hands folded behind his back. He faced his throne.

“So, it is all the fault of--” Shadow Weaver was cut off by Lord Hordak raising a finger.

“I want to hear it from _her_ ,” he said. “After all, she was _there_.”

“But, sir, surely you do not--”

Hordak glared at Shadow Weaver with the corner of his eye, turning his head ever so slightly. She shut up. Catra thought that was the smartest thing she’d done all day.

“So, we went for the Sword of Power in the Whispering Woods. Saw these ghosts, ghosts that, uh, that looked like you.”

Hordak looked away again.

“Ghosts,” he repeated.

“Yes. They looked like you, in white robes. They just stood there.”

Hordak clenched his fists. “Continue,” he commanded.

“Well, anyways, we got past those. We went for the Sword. We would have had it, but it was a trap. The archer, Bow, and the Princess, Glimmer, they had set us up with a fake signal.”

“How, I ask, did you have information on the Sword’s whereabouts which was not known to me?” Hordak asked, unclenching his fists.

“Lord Hord--” Shadow Weaver began.

Hordak slammed the throne, punching a hole through its back. Shadow Weaver shut up again. Lord Hordak turned to them, green veins in his eyes. He was tired, that much was clear.

“Silence yourself,” he snarled. “I asked your ward. If I ask you to speak to me, Shadow Weaver, you may do so.”

“Right,” Catra said, backing away. “So, I sort of… stole the information?”

“From the Hegemony?” Lord Hordak asked.

“Yeeeeees?” Catra responded.

“Not unimpressive,” Hordak granted, although the rogue had been lying through her teeth.

“Right,” Catra said. “So, we were captured. They had us under house arrest in the palace, because Angella wanted to use us as bargaining chips to get Shadow Weaver into a trap. Then, though, then we had a problem. Bow did a blood test on Adora.”

Lord Hordak clearly knew what was coming. “How is this a problem?” he asked, slumping back into his throne, ignoring the hole in it.

“Pure First Ones,” Shadow Weaver said.

Hordak looked to her again.

“ _Leave_ ,” he commanded.

Shadow Weaver raised a hand as if to continue.

“ _LEAVE_!”

She did as he commanded, baubles and cables rattling and dangling from Hordak’s shouting. That left just Catra and Lord Hordak. The tyrant, famous for ruthlessly punishing his minions, sat on his throne, a hand on his chin. “Where’s your pet?” Catra asked.

“Imp is not here,” Hordak said. “You are. Regale me.”

“Right,” Catra said. “Pure First Ones, like Shadow Weaver said.”

“So…” Hordak muttered. “She is the She-Ra.”

“Right,” Catra said. “She let us go.”

Hordak’s eyes widened.

“Did she leave a tracking device on you?” he asked.

“No,” Catra responded. “I don’t think so.”

“Have yourself examined,” he said. “I will not do it myself. That would be _tasteless_ , to say the least. Perhaps have a cadet assist you.”

“Don’t you wanna hear about the She-Ra?”

“Let me guess; she had enhanced strength, a variety of powers, a blue sword, and glowing eyes?”

“Yeah,” Catra said. “Glowing gold eyes, though, and her sword went gold.”

Hordak’s gaze narrowed. “Gold. Intriguing. None of my records have such things, except for those on Mara. Perhaps her supposed madness has crept into Adora.”

“No,” Catra said. “Adora’s still in there, and I’m gonna drag her back kicking and screaming if I have to.”

“What makes you think I will not exile you here and now?” asked Lord Hordak. “You disobeyed my direct authority! You risked the entire Fright Zone by requiring the barrier to fall, knowingly! If not for my pact, I see no reason not to schedule your public execution! There is nothing you can tell me of the She-Ra I do not already know.”

“I…” Catra muttered.

This was the same situation she had been in with Angella. A dictator, ready to send her to a living hell if they didn’t get something out of her. In another situation, she would take the opportunity to tell Adora she was right.

Adora was gone now.

“I understand,” she said. “I get it.”

“You decided to be insubordinate when the moment called for it, to chase after a goal, and to take your _own_ initiative when I had given you no such orders.”

“I--”

“Excellent,” he said.

“Wh-what?” Catra asked.

Hordak clasped his hands, seemingly calmer. “The best subordinates are not always those that obey orders to the letter. Sometimes, it takes one who will take significant initiative to serve properly. You knew of the Sword of Power, and you went after it due to your own desire, not to mention that you successfully managed to make your way out of Bright Moon, something most people have not seen. Then, when asked, you understood and took responsibility for your failure.”

“You…”

Lord Hordak rose from his throne. He walked toward Catra. He analyzed her arms, caked with blood as they were.

“You need medical assistance,” he said.

“Wait,” Catra asked. “So I’m not being punished?”

“No,” Hordak said. “After the loss of Force Captain Octavia to Princess Mermista’s forces, the Horde is lacking in leadership. We need someone with ambition. Someone with the capacity to strike a blow at the Hegemony.”

“You’re promoting me?” Catra asked in confusion.

“Yes,” Lord Hordak said. “Of all of us, you came the closest to acquisition of the Sword. You will be a useful asset, if molded properly. Of course, you are under the command of Shadow Weaver.”

“Shadow Weaver?” Catra asked, groaning.

“There are none better,” Hordak said. “When it comes to logistics, only I have her outmatched.”

Catra was tempted for a moment to ask why she could not work under Lord Hordak. After a moment of thinking, she decided that was a terrible idea. She would take her chances with Shadow Weaver.

“Do not disappoint me,” Lord Hordak said, returning to his throne. “I have high expectations of you.”

“What about Adora?” Catra asked.

“What of the She-Ra?” Hordak responded. “Leave me now.”

She faded into the darkness, leaving Lord Hordak alone in his throne room. Quietly, he skulked back to his sanctum. There was a pain in his left arm; he knew the mechanical limb needed repairs. As he plugged himself into the mess of cables again, he felt the hand come from the cybernetic limb, then the rest of it as well. Once again, he felt vulnerable, as though at any moment Prime himself could wander through the door.

_Look how weak you are_ , Prime would say. _You face the banner-carriers of the First Ones, and you are not only losing_ , _they have forced you so far on the back foot you must take a name and modify your own form_.

He had failed again. If it hadn’t been for that dastardly gnawing conscience, Lord Hordak would never be facing this. True, he would still have conflict, but he should have left that miserable cherub to the elements! Now, she was the She-Ra, his greatest foe.

Moments of empathy like that one ruined him. If he were able to turn his heart to stone, he would have done it so long ago. He felt his entire arm fade from his form, and then lowered his head.

He would contact her again. How many years had it been since they had spoken? Hordak felt the blowtorch activate. He wiped his eyes.

So tired, now. Sleep was failure. Rest was _failure_! He would not fail. He could not fail.

He felt the shoulder enter the socket. He gritted his teeth and suppressed his screams when the blowtorch began to repair it once more. The interface which rendered his body compatible with the arm required the cauterization, or the flesh would seep into necrosis due to the chemicals within the arm.

The power crystal was placed behind the hand by another claw. Hordak wiped his eyes again, smearing the black makeup which granted him his intimidating appearance across his cheek. He held back every yelp, every shriek. Pain was not failure. Pain was penance.

It was done.

He felt strong again, for just a second. Then, the rejuvenation ended. The board had been tipped against him. All sought his crown; perhaps even the young Force Captain desired to lead the Horde, deep down. There were none who had true loyalty to him.

Lord Hordak clenched his fist. No. He would seek her hand once again.

There was strength yet in him. He would fight until he perished. The only hope he would have would be that paradise would witness his arrival, and that its gates would open if he fell.

Sleep was failure, which he reminded himself as he examined the arm. Perhaps her finest handiwork, but his entire form decayed. A rudimentary exoskeleton had been wrapped around his form, but he needed more. He needed to once more do battle. For that, he needed her.

_I am not a butcher_!

_My tech isn’t for killing people_!

_You’re a monster_!

Hordak strode forth boldly, until his foot tripped over a cable. He found himself sprawled on the floor, his lip busted and his face bloodied. Before he called for medical assistance, he reminded himself of those words. Pain was penance. All beings suffered to become pure.

_You’re a monster_.

Princess Entrapta had said such things. Lord Hordak had denied them. He had not meant to kill King Micah; he hadn’t even done it! He had deployed non-lethal ammunition, as he always did. His robots were designed with their lasers at such a low power that they were merely concussive blasts, somewhat heated at worst. He had done his best not to be a murderer; none had the right to take a life, none but Prime.

What heresy he had committed to reach this point, he would deem necessary. Some of the things the innocents of Etheria cried out had rung true. Lord Hordak knew better than to let those truths keep him from what he desired. He was not a failure, and he never would be.

Again to his feet Lord Hordak rose, only to stumble again. He reached his throne room, and sat upon his throne, the hole in it an eternal reminder that Adora was now ten times as powerful as he would ever be. The Hegemony had him outmatched.

Outside the throne room, Catra was being congratulated by her fellow cadets. She couldn’t hear their words. They went through her mind without being worth a thought.

Across Etheria, Adora stood, walking into the Council Hall for the first time. Both of them were entrusted a new position on this day. Each of them had ascended in power.

Lord Hordak and Empress Angella sat on their thrones, waiting, biding their time. Each of them had their own secrets; then again, who did not? The two played an elaborate game of chess, hoping always to put the other side in check.

Now, the Empress had her strongest piece on the board. A queen. Lord Hordak, opening a file on Entrapta, decided he would need to make his own.

So began the game.


	3. A Senseless Waste

“This is it,” Catra said. “Your first mission.”

“The most important mission in the Horde,” she said, repeating the words of Lord Hordak.

“Something that could turn the tide of the conflict,” she said, again repeating the tyrant’s words.

Truly, he had built it as the most important quest she would ever undertake; no, he had built it as the most important quest any under the Horde would take. She was to go into the Crimson Waste, and she was to meet with a group of merchants. They offered to illegally sell them a particular plant, which Lord Hordak confirmed was the source of Horde ration bars.

In other words, Catra’s first job was a food run.

There were no markets in the Fright Zone, and as Lord Hordak had said, the supply lines had been cut. Starting any line to get more was a tense task, indeed. He had confirmed the suspicions Catra had, that they were running out of ration bars. Lord Hordak, however, said something of interest. He said that with his new aquaponics system, one he had created via running lines of underground water from Salineas, filtered to become fresh water, he could plant seeds. The Fright Zone wouldn’t need supply lines after a couple months; they could become their own supply lines if Catra just got these seeds.

Unfortunately, that took her into the Crimson Waste on a basic speeder bike. It was a brown thing, almost rusting, with no weapons capabilities. Behind Catra was Lonnie, who had been sent alongside her to ensure things went right. Shadow Weaver had personally dispatched Lonnie, as she had work for Kyle and Rogelio today.

Sweat ran down Catra’s forehead. Lord Hordak had told her to meet them at the coordinates marked on Lonnie’s datapad. According to it, they had grown nearer to the location. There was a taser on Catra’s hip, Lonnie’s as well, and they had a canyon to cross.

They were between the walls of the massive canyon. At the end of the canyon was the mountain which the merchants called their home. It had become known as Shattered Heart’s Peak. Catra knew a thing or two about shattered hearts.

It was just a day ago that she had lost everything. Adora had left her. She had risen in power through the Horde. She supposed that was all she had to look forward to.

Catra had asked Lord Hordak to send her to face the She-Ra. Every single time, he dismissed her without a second thought. He said she was not strong enough.

Catra was gonna show him strength. For now, though, she was doing a food run. The canyon was wide and long, and Catra had stopped at its mouth.

“How we doing, Lonnie?” she asked.

“Badly,” Lonnie said. “We’re running low on fuel. Not enough to make the whole canyon.”

Catra gritted her teeth. Of course they couldn’t. Had Lord Hordak sent them on a suicide run? If she weren’t scared of the Lord of the Fright Zone, she’d have yelled his pointy ears off already. Either he was an exceptionally foolish leader, or he was trying to get Catra killed so soon in her tenure. Neither was a good decision.

“So what?” Catra asked. “We make the last part of the run on foot?”

“Yeah, I guess,” responded Lonnie.

“Ugh,” Catra vocalized. Lonnie nodded sympathetically. “What happened to Adora?”

Catra turned to Lonnie. “Did… did Lord Hordak not tell you?”

“No,” Lonnie said. “I asked Shadow Weaver, but she said it was on a need to know basis.”

Catra sputtered. “She’s She-Ra,” she muttered.

“She’s what?” Lonnie asked in confusion.

“She’s a thing,” Catra said. “Short version, she’s with the Hegemony.”

“With the Hegemony?” Lonnie asked.

“Yeah,” Catra said. “She… she got her hands on the Sword of Power and it _did_ something to her. I’m gonna get her back, but to do that, I need more authority.”

“There are worse plans,” Lonnie responded. “Still, that’s _insane_. Adora with the Hegemony? Couldn’t have seen that one coming.”

Catra turned to her. For a moment, she was going to respond in kind, but that would be a lie; a useless lie at that. Adora had turned to the side of the Hegemony, and Catra knew exactly why. For all her moralizing, all Adora wanted was to be better than Catra.

Catra wasn’t about to give her that kind of pleasure. If she gave in, let Adora know she was better, Adora would… well, she would know she was better. That unto itself was reason not to admit it. Still, it had been tempting, every second of it had been a temptation to just admit it, to let Adora come with her.

Lord Hordak would be enraged if he discovered childish grudges had undone their chances of getting an asset like the She-Ra. Of course, Catra couldn’t give less of a damn what Lord Hordak thought. Sending her on a simple mission to open a food line, to get seeds for his science experiments, without even the fuel to make it? That was an insult.

Well, now that she thought about it, it was Shadow Weaver who had fueled their bike. Suddenly, a lot more things made sense. She turned to Lonnie.

“You know what I could use right now?” Lonnie asked. “A drink. Water, I mean. I don’t usually drink, it’s not practical.”

“Plus, booze was expensive, even on the black market. Gross too.”

“Yeah,” Lonnie said. “Never been a fan.”

“Still,” Catra said. “An oasis wouldn’t be unwelcome right now.”

The bike revved up from a purr to a satisfying growl, then to a powerful roar. It had two wheels, a shape that curved it up and down. It barely fit two young women, and it would certainly have fit only Lord Hordak. The funny thing was that, along the side, the Horde logo was painted, albeit in black. The bike had been painted over, but that was conspicuously untouched, bits of white scattered in between the muddy brown.

Across the orange sand, they raced. Catra found herself wishing she had gotten a helmet for this as her hair blew back in the wind. Cacti littered the canyon walls, foreboding markers of the path ahead. Beyond them, the mountain, their destination, growing nearer at incredible speed.

There was a light beeping sound as the bike’s fuel ticked down. Catra pushed forward, hoping she could eke out a bit more after it ran out. Still, it would all be gone soon, and she and Lonnie would be forced to leg it to the mountain, and hope they could bring fuel.

That wasn’t a fate Catra wanted. No, not at all. They were getting there, halfway across the canyon, when they heard the sound of a horn. Not a Horde horn nor that of Hegemonic forces; no, this horn as deep and intimidating, with riffs of a guitar and bursts of flame running throughout. Catra nearly stopped in her tracks to look, but decided better.

“Status report,” she demanded of Lonnie, in true Force Captain fashion.

“Yeah,” Lonnie said. “We’re on our last legs when it comes to fuel. We’re halfway through. Oh, yeah, and there’s four bikes on each wall of the canyon right behind us.”

“Bikes?” Catra asked.

Catra looked to the side, and saw along the camera wall a blur. She heard the dull drone of the fuel tank emptying, and turned the bike sideways. It skidded along the ground, kicking up a cloud of sand in their path, and Catra looked to Lonnie. They were shrouded, at least for now. The two departed their bike, just in time. A pink laser from the distance struck their vehicle, and it exploded in a shower of rusty parts.

Lord Hordak wasn’t going to be happy about that.

Now came the outrageously loud bellowing of eight engines. The two Horde soldiers took the tasers from their hips, and Catra gave hers an experimental twirl. One press of a button on the top, and a short-range electric shock would be released, perfectly modulated to incapacitate any enemy, whether robot or humanoid. It could even take down geodites, or so Shadow Weaver claimed.

The bellowing came along along with the hollering of people in the distance. Catra turned, and like a true warrior, ran for her life. Lonnie followed, nearly keeping pace. It was only slightly that she could not keep up exactly with the Force Captain, and they were even for a few seconds at a time. Of course, while Catra had the advantage in speed, Lonnie had greater endurance. Catra felt her lungs empty of air, gasping for more and stumbling along the ground.

“No,” Lonnie said when she realized the way Catra was slowly falling apart. Reaching out a hand, she began to pull her superior officer along.

Catra struggled to keep up, only to hear the bellowing of the engines grow nearer and nearer. Turning back, she saw bikes, not unlike her own, storm through the cloud of orange dust. Their riders were helmed, with a serpent eating its own tail on their black jackets. Lonnie seemed to slow down, and Catra knew if Lonnie was going to make it, she would have to let go. It was a simple moral decision.

So, of course, despite herself, Catra held on for dear life. Lonnie slowed, and began to skid, until they landed on the ground, their goal still a fair bit away. The bikes raced toward them, surrounding the two, ropes shooting from their sides and extending between them.

Catra twirled her taser again, and then saw that which was in their leader’s hand. She chuckled as she saw a whip; old-fashioned, of course, not up to par with the Horde’s energy whip, but she doubted Lord Hordak would lend her another one of those after the Hegemony got the last one. The bikes stopped, their engines still rumbling.

“Hi,” she said.

“Howdy,” responded their leader, his voice masked by his helm, yet discernibly masculine. His jacket was open, exposing his bare, scaled chest.

The leader of this gang was a lot bigger than her. Ten times as muscular, ten times as powerful, and a thousand times as intimidating. He stepped off his bike, whip in hand, and approached. Lonnie stepped back, and she stood, her back to Catra’s as the bikers began to approach.

“Nice whip you have there,” Catra said.

“Boss!” a biker exclaimed in a thick, crude accent. “This one’s got a Horde patch on ‘er shirt! What should we do?”

The boss held out a hand. His fellow bandits ceased their advance. He cracked the whip across the ground in what was so flagrantly a display of dominance that Catra couldn’t help but be offended. She lit her taser momentarily, and he merely laughed.

“Too bad,” he said. “Pair of young Horde cadets. Stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time. This is our canyon.”

“Yep,” Catra responded. “Property of the snakes eating themselves. Bit of a wordy name for a bandit group.”

“It really is unfortunate,” the boss said. “If it had been the other way, we would’ve turned Hegemony scum over to the Horde. Instead, we turn Horde scum over to the Hegemony.”

“Funny,” Catra said, inhaling and finally catching her breath properly. “You’re not the first person to give me that spiel this week. That thing about how ‘oh, if it were the other way around, it’d all be different.’ It’s not, though. So, surrender.”

The entire gang of bandits laughed uproariously. Catra twirled the taser again, keeping it in her right hand. Her left, she brandished the claws of.

“Surrender?” the man asked. “Sssssurrender?” he asked again through laughter.

“Yeah,” Catra said.

Lonnie looked at Catra, eyes wide in confusion and surprise. Catra had never been one to pick a fight where the odds were against her. Without the element of surprise, without a chance to ambush, with nothing else, Catra would surely lose.

Catra had never won a fair fight in her life, because she’d never had a fair fight in her life. She could beat opponents bigger and stronger than her, but in a straight showdown she wasn’t much. To be sure, she could give as well as she took, but in the end she would always lose. Hence, she had cut out the middleman, so to speak, and had absolutely annihilated anyone who got in her way before a fight could truly start.

“Bring it, sugar-puff,” she said, beckoning him with an arrogant motion of her hand.

The man struck at her with his whip. Bad move. Catra caught the lash, and watched as he pulled. Her grip was firm.

“Whips,” she said. “Designed to cause pain. Not much good against me.”

With that, she let go, just as she pressed her taser to the whip. It lit aflame, rather disappointingly, and the boss dropped it. Pouncing before anyone could respond, she plunged the taser into the boss’s chest. Then, she did it again for good measure. Then, again, just to be sure. Overkill, maybe, but she wasn’t about to take chances with this.

The man fell, shaking and spasming on the ground. Calmly, Catra placed the taser against her hip. The man reached out, and Catra removed his helmet. It was a crude construction, made of metal in the shape of a skull. His serpentine visage was fully exposed as she tossed the worthless helm aside, and then, as he looked up in horror, she kicked sand into his eyes.

It seemed rather evident she wasn’t in a great mood.

“Anyone else?” she asked as the whip’s flame burned out in the sand.

Wisely, nobody else chose to take her on. They all surrendered instantly, and Catra tore the jacket from the boss’s back. Lighting it aflame with the taser, she showed the gang exactly what she thought of their hospitality.

After it had gone out, she slashed apart the ropes in her way, and moved toward the mountain. The boss, once he had recovered, screamed to pursue her, but it was to no avail. The gang simply stared in awe as Catra walked away, placing the taser back on her hip.

“Was that necessary?” Lonnie asked.

“Absolutely not,” Catra responded, flashing her a smile.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Lonnie said. “You’re gonna cause trouble.”

“Trouble?” Catra asked derisively. “We were in trouble when a group of bikers were gonna sell us to the Hegemony. Imagine if they had learned I’m your superior. A Force Captain.”

“You didn’t have to tase him that third time. Or kick sand into his eyes.”

“Yeah,” Catra said. “It was _fun_ , though. Sometimes it happens, y’know? You gotta blow off a little steam.”

“You’re not taking this Adora thing well.”

“No,” Catra said cheerfully. “I’m really not. My best friend, my _only_ friend, defected to the Hegemony.”

“Why didn’t you go with her?” Lonnie asked.

“I’m not gonna be sentenced to the mines,” Catra said. “Not while she sits there eating ‘delightful confectionaries’ with the Empress herself. I’ve got a chance at a place here.”

Lonnie looked at her. “You have problems,” she said. “Still, we’re gonna have trouble with that gang.”

“Look at them. They’re _scared_ of me, Lonnie. We’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

“Your permission to speak freely is revoked,” Catra said, before shrugging and turning around.

Indeed, the gang was departing without their leader, who laid impotently in the dirt. He clawed, trying to get himself up, but he was nothing. Finally, he made it to his feet, and pointed at Catra. He gave her a glare, to which she responded with a rather vulgar gesture, and he ran away, reaching for something in his baggy brown pants, stitched together awkwardly.

“See?” Catra asked. “We’re good.”

“Right,” Lonnie said uncertainly.

“What did I say about talking?”

Lonnie stared her down, stopping in her path. Catra looked at her. At once, she felt the hatred that this woman had for her; why, Lonnie certainly wondered, had Catra come into this position? Lonnie wanted it from her. Catra flicked her taser on her hip, letting it spark for a second to intimidate her subordinate.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Lonnie said, her face one of stone.

“Yeah,” Catra said. “You really shouldn’t be. I’m not gonna hurt you unless you try something.”

“But if I don’t try something, you’re going to hold your position over me as much as possible.”

Catra nodded affirmatively. Lonnie sighed. The two circled one another.

“I don’t care about being Force Captain,” Lonnie said.

“Well, you don’t have to lie.”

“Oh, like you did to get your position?”

“Tough talk,” Catra said.

“Kyle’s been wondering where his datapad is ever since that night. Imagine if he found out it was in the inventory of the speeder you made off with.”

“What’s Kyle gonna do to me?” Catra asked.

“Nothing,” Lonnie said. “His boyfriend’s a different matter.”

That, Catra would admit, gave her pause. Rogelio was a big man, but worse, he could sneak around like nobody’s business. That sort of quiet energy outpaced even Catra’s roguish talents, and combined with his lack of bravado, that left him far more dangerous to her than Lonnie or Kyle. She supposed she would have to find a way to ensure he wasn’t a problem.

“What’re you gonna do, tell him? You’ve got no proof.”

“I have something better than proof,” Lonnie responded. “Kyle trusts me. Nobody trusts you. Nobody ever trusted you. Not even Adora.”

Catra tossed her taser aside. She supposed this was something she’d have to do herself. Lonnie did the same.

Their clash began and ended in an instant. Catra rushed forth, ready to punch Lonnie out, and found her punch caught. Lonnie’s face was calm, and the rogue blinked a few times. Lonnie nodded, and then let her go, shoving her backward.

“You’re not worth it, ‘Force Captain.’ I don’t feel like getting chastised by Lord Hordak today.”

“Y-you!” Catra exclaimed.

“Let’s be clear. Your rank is higher than mine. That’s because you’re a good liar. You’re a good liar, but I’m a good cadet. I actually do my job. I don’t want _your_ job. I don’t. If I wanted, though? I could take it. Just hope I never stop trying, Catra.”

Catra’s eyes widened. Lonnie extended a hand. Catra begrudgingly took it, and the two wandered on through the canyon. There was nothing behind them, nothing of note but a bare canyon and a destroyed motorcycle. The two exchanged glances along the way, sizing one another up. Any moment, it seemed as though the sands would rise and the battle would begin, a fight for dominance between the two.

Fortunately for Catra, who was quite sure she would lose, and had abandoned her taser in their scuffle, nothing of the sort occurred. Instead, as they drew close to the entrance of the mountain, she saw wings in the air. Silhouettes of birds, feathers dropping down. The birds were pursued by a small creature with bat wings. Catra squinted, but the sun was too intense for anything of note to be discerned. Finally, she and Lonnie reached the door of the dealers’ deadly den.

At the door, a woman in a red cloak, with arms thick as boulders and a wide frame. The red cloak was marked with the emblem of the Etherian Horde, symbolizing that this was where they were meant to be.

“Were you followed?” the woman asked.

Catra turned around, and shook her head. Then, she saw it in the distance. A silhouette; no, more than that, a series of silhouettes. The woman in the red cloak took a monocular from her cloak, a silver, cylindrical object with a glass lens, and zoomed it in.

“Tung Lashor?” she asked. “Followed by…”

She ushered the two in. “Close the door!” she yelled, before Catra could even get a lay of the land.

Outside, the cacti pulsed. Roots sprang from the side of the canyon, and thorns began to push toward the merchants’ base. Lonnie pulled Catra further in, defending her as a cactus exploded, sending a storm of spines. A stone gate lowered over the mountain’s face, leaving them in the darkness. Then, torches lit up along the walls.

“We got a problem?” Catra asked.

“You weren’t followed?” the woman asked in her firm, strong voice.

“No,” Lonnie said.

Accompanied by the sound of spines striking the stone gate, and plant life slamming against it, Catra went on a rather verbose, not to mention somewhat profane, rant against Lonnie and this mysterious woman alike. She chided Lonnie for risking everything by delaying them by picking a fight, then the mysterious woman for hiding her identity despite the practicality of the scenario. Then, she went on to argue that there was no way they could be followed, not to mention the fact that clearly, any force the great “Tung Lashor,” whose name was a level of stupid it bordered on cataclysmic unto itself, could bring was of no consequence whatsoever, as she had beaten him rather easily beforehand.

“If you weren’t followed, then why is _Princess Perfuma_ right outside our base?”

Oh.

Well.

Catra supposed that changed things.

“So, what’s the deal?” she asked, scratching her left arm awkwardly. “What do we do now?”

“Nothing,” the woman responded gruffly. “If the Princesses are here, and they catch us making deals with the Horde, we aren’t gonna make it long.”

“You’re kidding,” Catra responded. “So what? We surrender?”

“Yes,” the woman in the red robe responded.

Lonnie looked to Catra. There was a certain smugness in her worried expression, a knowledge that she would be demoted for this failure. Something as simple as a food run, getting seeds for Lord Hordak’s aquaponics system, and she had, through no fault of her own, been condemned to fail. The woman in the red robe looked at her.

The merchants’ base was a small thing, lit only by flaming torches. Their headquarters had three total people, discounting the Horde members; first among them was a lizard with four arms, not unlike Rogelio, albeit with more limbs. She looked on despondently, her four arms crossed as she looked at the shut door. Beside her was a woman with horns, shorn at the middle, and a thin scar across her nose. She clung to the lizard woman.

“It’s hopeless,” the cloaked woman said. “It’s why I’m not with the Horde anymore. You couldn’t hold a candle to the Princesses.”

Catra looked at her. “Probably not,” she admitted. “But we don’t have to. When I was with the Horde, overpowered by Princesses, I mastered something.”

Lonnie looked puzzled.

“Wh… what was it?” asked the woman in the red cloak, who was drawing a short sword from the wall.

Catra smirked. “ _Running away_.”

The cloaked woman looked at her, and assented hastily to the plan. Lonnie looked uneasily at the door, and the other two people in the hideout stared blankly at Catra. Catra caught a slight visual of an intensely violet, muscled bicep hidden within the cloak. The woman’s cloak was still over her head, concealing her face except the slight semblance of yellow eyes.

“We have a way out?”

“Yeah,” the woman said bluntly.

“Then we take it.”

“No valorous last stand this time?” Lonnie asked as a rumbling echoed throughout the hideout.

“No,” Catra said. “Valorous last stands are for people who don’t intend to win.”

The red-cloaked woman looked at Catra, blinking briefly and then nodding. The rogue searched the hideout, and spotted a few small brown pouches. Once she had crept over to the pouches, she opened them, untying the small strings around their tops. She found them filled with seeds. Quietly, she scanned the room. The others didn’t have a clue. Hastily, Catra tied the pouch and hung it on her belt. Whether she had been followed or not didn’t matter. What mattered was ensuring Lord Hordak knew exactly how successful she could be.

The rumbling and thrashing against the door grew louder. The woman grabbed a torch, and moved to the back of the small room. She pressed a part of the wall, which sunk into the rest of the stone, and a secret staircase opened. It was narrow, fit only for a single file line, but Catra supposed it would have to do. She was going to make it through this. Directing Lonnie to take another torch from the wall, the Force Captain began moving toward the doorway of the secret staircase.

Then, the stone that served as the only barrier between them and the ones outside cracked.

Everyone involved rushed down. Catra scrambled away from the door, and suddenly felt herself trip across something. No, _someone_ ; looking at the three others, she saw that Lonnie was the only one of them not going down the staircase yet. The roguish Horde soldier found herself falling down the stairs, only for Lonnie to reach out a hand. The world seemed to slow.

The temptation was clear to take it, but Catra couldn’t trust Lonnie. What if she meant to delay them, to let the Princesses in and trade away Catra? If Lonnie wanted a higher role, trading away a Force Captain would give it just as easily. Besides, even without that, odds of survival were higher through treachery. Catra was too entrenched in the Horde to defect now, but Lonnie had been passed over for a promotion, and didn’t even like Catra. It would only be the logical course of action, to betray her and to defect to the Hegemony, or even just to trap her there and 

As time ceased to slow, Catra found herself flying down the staircase, her torch flying just above her head. Upside down, she remembered exactly who she was. With incredible dexterity, she pressed a hand to one of the stone steps and caught the torch with her foot It was intense and awkward, but it did the trick. She bounced away from the stair, her hand a little struck at worst, and tossed the torch into the air. Catching it with her left hand, Catra landed on her feet a single stair below.

Lonnie had visible shock on her face, and Catra was tempted to rub it in. Still, the cadet made her way down the stairs quickly as the light burst in to the room. She slammed a hand on the hidden button, her talents not failing her now. The door shut behind them, but the pounding against it was quick and brutal. Catra looked back, and decided it would be best to wait for the others.

An uncharacteristic decision, to say the least.

After the others had caught up, the Force Captain watched as the door was destroyed behind them. Lonnie stayed in the back, and two of the gang members made a break for it. They rushed toward Catra, who slipped between them with ease. The one in the red cloak finally shed the cloak, hurling it toward the light which came from the broken door.

It was pinned to the wall with the spikes of a cactus. There, at the door, clad in perfect green and eye-searing pink, was Princess Perfuma. She wore a silver crown upon her head, her feet clad in green boots. In her right hand was a cactus, generating thorns at a rate quicker than was natural. She was backed by two geodites, and a vague silhouette, the frame of which was undeniably that of the gang leader from the canyon. It seemed word traveled fast in the Crimson Waste.

The woman who had worn the red cloak was illuminated by the light of her torch. She was a woman of incredible muscle, scars and calluses all across her body. Catra couldn’t help but stare in awe at the sight of the Princess and the merchant, who were alike in beauty yet in entirely different ways. Perfuma, even in the heat of combat, carried a certain demure, meditative quality to her every step, a long flowing shawl of transparent green around her shoulders, concealing a pink robe.

The merchant, meanwhile, wore only a brown fur vest and a pair of brown trousers as she stood against the Princess, who seemed to glide down the stairs with nothing but elegance in every last step of her boots.

“Go,” Lonnie said. “I’ll hold her off.”

Catra took a moment, and then nodded. Quietly, she tossed Lonnie a torch. To her shock, she saw Lonnie’s face illuminated by the light.

“You got a cactus?” Lonnie asked.

Perfuma had no response. Instead, she descended in a manner most graceful. Catra stifled a laugh as the thorns began to fly along the walls. All she needed was to move down, and they would all be caught in the chaos of the cataclysmic cactus.

That, while a horrible pain, would be admittedly hilarious, if solely due to the concept.

“You got a cactus?” Lonnie asked again, tossing the torch back to Catra.

With that, she charged into the storm of thorns. Opening her mouth to deliver another line, she found herself instead struck by two thorns. Ducking below the storm, Lonnie tackled Perfuma. Taking advantage of the narrow passage, she bounded over the Princess and with a single punch ended the two geodites, shattering them. Her knuckles were bruised, but evidently not enough to set her back. When the gang boss charged down, she caught his punch as she had that of Catra. Unfortunately, he simply followed up with another punch. Sent spiraling down, Lonnie was caught by the merchants’ leader.

The leader of the bikers walked down, but he found himself stopped by Perfuma. Perfuma’s eyes were piercing and clear as she rose to her feet, her cactus still in hand. She looked at her opposition calmly, and tilted her head.

“Gonna say something?” Catra taunted.

“I said _go_ ,” Lonnie said hoarsely and intensely.

“Yeah, and I _didn’t_ ,” Catra responded. “Let’s pretend it’s because I care about you.”

Why had she stayed? A good question. It would have been more practical to simply go on. No point in asking why now. To stay was to risk death, and they needed to move. Perfuma was rising, and Catra was sure a measly cactus wasn’t all she had. As she turned away, she heard soft footsteps, as though the Princess wore no boots at all.

“Move,” she said. The merchant gave her the torch in her left hand, and carried Lonnie along. The two rushed down the stairs, pursued by the Princess.

Catra could feel herself once again running out of energy, and worse yet, the torches were going out at astonishing speed. Twirling on her feet, she tossed one at Perfuma. The Princess caught it without a second thought, and blew it out. A foolish move; even the opposition needed light to see, and now they no longer had it.

Unfortunately, the stairs began to spiral around that point. Wondering where this could even lead, Catra proceeded. At last, they made their way to what was apparently a bottom, opening to an underground tunnel. The muscular woman slammed a plate. Dripping, dripping water was all throughout the tunnel, all around them, but a door sealed, and the torch in Catra’s hand remained lit, although it was dying out.

“You okay?” Catra asked Lonnie.

Lonnie began plucking thorns from her body, giving a faint nod. The merchant slumped against a wall.

“No point,” she said. “No point.”

“C’mon,” Catra responded.

“This is why I left the Horde. There’s no fighting the Hegemony. They’ve got magic.”

“Left the Horde?” Catra asked.

“I went by Force Captain Huntara. Kept the old cloak. Thought I’d do some work, help out where I could, but you lured a _Princess_ to my base? I was the king of the Crimson Waste until Tung Lashor signed on with the Hegemony. What’s your problem with him anyways?”

“Snake guy? I tased him.”

Huntara nodded.

“Then I tased him again.”

Huntara nodded again.

“Maybe one more time for good measure.”

Huntara blinked quizzically.

“Then I lit his jacket on fire. Maybe kicked sand in his eyes.”

Huntara sighed in disappointment.

“What? He tried to shake down me and Lonnie.”

“Tung Lashor has a very fragile ego. Tasing him a couple times was bad enough, but you had to burn the jacket?”

“I didn’t have to. I did it because he made me mad.”

“So you risked everything?” asked Lonnie.

“Shut up,” Catra responded.

“Or what? You’ll hit me? You’ll sell me out to the Princesses? You don’t have a lot of options here, Catra.”

“Shut up! I need to think!”

“Catra,” she said, approaching. “We only have a matter of time before they get down here, even in the dark. We’re doomed.”

“I _know_ ,” Catra said. “Let me think or I’ll have you taken in to Lord Hordak for insubordination.”

“Oh, so he can make _me_ a Force Captain too?”

“You want my position. I knew it!”

Lonnie rubbed a hand on her forehead. “I don’t give a damn about my position, Catra. I know for a fact I’d be a better Force Captain, but that doesn’t matter to me. I get it. You lost Adora. It’s hard, but have you ever thought that you might’ve pushed her away? Maybe it’s your fault?”

“I will have you shipped off to Beast Island if you don’t hold your tongue!”

“You don’t get it, do you? You really don’t. I liked Adora, Catra, and now, thanks to you, she’s gone. You went, and you nearly betrayed us, you stole from us, you went and fought the Hegemony yourself, and now Adora isn’t just on their side, she’s some sort of weird super-Princess. All because you wanted to get up in life. Frankly, I couldn’t care less, except you keep kicking other people right in the face on your way up!”

“I have ambition, Lonnie. Something you could, too.”

“Listen to yourself, Catra. One second you accuse me of coming for your position, the next you’re criticizing me for not being ambitious enough. You’re a walking self-contradiction, a mess. You’re not in a place to lead.”

Catra tuned her out. Clearly, she just wanted the position for herself. Oh, she could pretend all she wanted that she cared about Catra, but that was the way it worked. People clapped your shoulder just long enough to put a knife in your back.

What Catra would give for a knife right now. Sure, it wouldn’t do much against a massive botanical abomination, or whatever else Perfuma could muster, but she would at least be able to throw it. It would look impressive for a whole couple minutes, and then there was a good chance she would be unconscious. Still, it was definitely worth a shot.

Well, it would be if she had a knife. Worse yet, there was pounding against the door. No tasers anymore, no bike. No more cheap tricks.

The tunnel had two paths onward; one was lit with blue crystals, the other dark and dank, its walls caked in moss and no light to be found. Looking at Lonnie, she gestured to a data pad on Lonnie’s hip, in compact form. Lonnie pulled it out and handed it to her.

Looking onward, Catra saw the tunnel. Immediately, she made a decision. A decision that would have a price. She looked at Lonnie. If she were to make it out, she would need something to distract them. Lord Hordak cared about efficiency, and she knew that. What had to be done was unfortunate, but she supposed there were few other options if she wanted the mission to be successful. Besides, she would have to eliminate the witnesses who knew of her failure.

The issue was that there was only one torch. That could be resolved easily enough. Catra handed the torch to the muscular woman.

“We go down that way,” she said, pointing down the dark path. You go first. I’m gonna give the Princess a piece of my mind.”

Lonnie eyed Catra suspiciously. “No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re going to send us that way, down the dark path. Since they’ll see the torch, they’ll know something’s up, while they couldn’t discern you in the lit tunnel. Then, you’re going to make a break for it, with the seeds, which you stole, and you’re gonna contact Lord Hordak with my data pad’s communicator while we get imprisoned and you earn a solid success. Did I miss a beat?”

Catra’s eyes widened. So, she had predicted the entire plot, point for point. Well, she supposed it was time to improvise.

Hauling back, Catra punched Lonnie in the abdomen. Lonnie stumbled away, and the larger woman looked at her. Catra sped off, running as quickly as possible down the dark path as the door behind them crumbled. Without Huntara to navigate, she supposed things would be a struggle. Still, the struggle was where Catra thrived.

She opened the data pad, and tried to access comms. No signal. Then, she saw a light pursuing her. Huntara, racing down the tunnel.

“Listen, I’m sorry I tried to betray you,” Catra said. “It was just business.”

“No hard feelings,” Huntara responded.

Then, from the waist of her pants where it had been crudely sheathed, Huntara drew a sword. Catra raised her hands, and chuckled nervously.

“Gonna stay behind and bravely give your life for us?” Catra asked.

“Nah,” Huntara said.

“Ah,” Catra said. “Well.”

Huntara pressed the tip of her blade to Catra’s neck, a torch in her right hand and a sword in her left. Noticing the lack of ease with which she held the weapon, Catra determined in a moment that Huntara was using the wrong hand. Her dominant hand was clearly her right, which was taken up by the torch. To draw the sword quickly, the “merchant” would have needed to use her left hand rather than her right.

Catra smirked. That would mean that any swing she made would be weak; well, as weak as a woman with tree trunks for arms could be. If she was so uncertain as to shake as she did now, that meant she was aware of such a thing. Now, was she aware Catra noticed?

At this range? Certainly. Yes, Catra determined, this would work.

With a swipe of her claws, Catra slashed through the blade. It split into three pieces on its tip, which fell harmlessly to the ground. Huntara looked at her in confusion, and Catra ducked below the blade, doing the same across it in a savage flurry of blows. With a destroyed sword in her left hand and a dying torch in her right, Huntara was cornered, Catra’s claws at her throat.

“You’re insane,” Huntara said.

“Give me the torch. I promise, the Hegemony will be hospitable.”

“Yeah,” said a deep voice reeking of arrogance. “But I won’t.”

Catra saw a flash of light. Then, she saw Huntara fall. There, before her, stood Tung Lashor, holding a brown and rusted blaster pistol in his hand, a miniature flashlight haphazardly taped to the bottom. The dial on the side was cranked up to its highest setting. The bikers’ leader licked his lips with a forked tongue as he approached, stepping over Huntara’s body.

“Funny things, these little toys. A little flash of light, and people’s lives fade.”

Catra looked down silently at the body. Face down on the ground, water dripping from the ceiling onto it. She wanted to reach for the torch, to take it up, but it felt wrong. The wounds on Huntara weren’t bloody. There was just… a hole. A hole in her abdomen. Catra felt the world rush as she realized what was going on.

Huntara was _dead_.

Catra’s breathing sped up in pace. It was funny; all this time out there, and she had never seen someone actually bite the dust. Now, someone she had stood against a moment before was lying face down on the ground.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

No.

Catra leaned down. She could smell it. Like burning meat. She hadn’t even seen it. It was sudden, hot and then cold. Now, there was a woman on the floor, lying dead right before Catra’s eyes. She felt the urge to vomit as she took in the sight and stench. Merely a moment. That was all it took for her to fall.

It was like she wasn’t even gone. She was right there. The rogue wanted to reach for her hand. Huntara wouldn’t have killed her. Now, thanks to her actions, she was dead on the ground.

“Oh, don’t act like you weren’t good with this,” Lashor said. “You would’ve killed me if not for your pathetic conventions of war. Guess what, runt? There are no rules in the Crimson Waste, and I _am_ the Crimson Waste now that my last rival is dead.”

“You’re a monster,” Catra said.

A fight was one thing. A battle, to be sure, was enjoyable. A fight was like a conversation, an argument held with fists and violence. Bloody as a fight was, permanent though the injuries may sometimes have been, it was a conversation. To kill someone, that was to cut off not only that conversation, but to tear away their voice forever.

Catra was cornered. It wasn’t a game anymore. Her life was on the line. Tung Lashor approached, and she felt the blaster pressed to her head.

“You should’ve taken your chance to kill me,” he said. “You wanna know what’ll happen after I kill you? The Empress rewards me, and she uses a loophole. I’m not officially part of the Hegemony. You poor little Horde girls should’ve known what was going on, but you got taken out by a marauder, out there in the Crimson Waste with monsters. Maybe your precious Lord Hordak shouldn’t have--”

Suddenly, he fell to the ground, the blaster falling from his hand. There was a ferocious, vengeful scream, and Lonnie’s fists made a brutal impact on his face. Catra averted her eyes from the dead body as she picked up the blaster from the ground. The weapon that had ended Huntara’s life. This was wrong. She knew it was wrong.

She looked at the body again. Lonnie grabbed Tung Lashor’s hands, and held them firmly down. He would overpower her. Catra aimed the pistol right between his serpentine eyes.

There was fear. Huntara would’ve been afraid if she hadn’t seen it. Anyone would be afraid when they saw someone facing them down, ready to end their life, to snuff them out with the pull of a trigger.

The blaster was heavy.

Catra breathed slowly. She didn’t have much time. He had put down Huntara. It was only fair that she did the same thing. He broke from Lonnie’s grip, and struck her face with the back of his head. She fell backward, and she moved the blaster toward him. He yelped with shock, and reached out his arms, trying to run.

Catra knew that it would be bad if she didn’t kill him. He had given them away, given everything away. If she had just kept going until he was dead, that would’ve solved the problem. She had no problem tasing him within an inch of his life. She could hear light footsteps, and thus she knew that Perfuma was coming. Not far away.

He would always come back. Even now, she knew he would find a way to aid the Hegemony again. A simple pull of the trigger, and it would all be over. Perfuma would probably run; that was what happened to those who could run when they first saw death.

Lonnie clutched her nose, blood dripping through her fingers. Catra looked at Lashor. She squeezed her eyes shut, and she pushed her finger against the trigger, shaking.

She couldn’t do it.

He ran away, and Lonnie looked up at Catra. Panting in desperation, Catra dialed the pistol back. The flashlight still shone upon Lashor, and she took the opportunity, firing two stunning rounds into his back. He collapsed, yet still breathed. Catra looked toward the way out, and saw Lonnie, her body on the floor next to Huntara. Tung Lashor was getting up.

She reached out a hand.

Lonnie took it.

Catra looked up at the ceiling. Dialing the pistol up as Tung Lashor slowly made his way to his feet, as Perfuma slowly drifted from the shadows like a wrathful specter, she fired. Rocks fell before herself and Lonnie. Supporting Lonnie, Catra moved forward. They kept moving until they saw light, and when they did, Catra slammed the comms button. Immediately, evacuation was called.

The two sat outside in the orange sands for a few minutes. Lonnie’s nose was bleeding quite a bit. Unsure what else to do, Catra looked away.

“You think they’re coming?” she asked.

“They can spare a little more manpower,” Lonnie responded, her voice different, squeakier, more fragile.

“Did he break your nose?”

“That woman was _dead_ , Catra?”

“Yeah.”

“You kill her?”

Catra reeled back in shock. “No,” she said. “No, I couldn’t. I don’t kill people.”

“You could’ve… not-alived Tung Lashor. Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to.”

Lonnie chuckled, and then gritted her teeth, wincing at the overwhelming pain. The cadet looked at Catra in horror, her eyes bloodshot. Catra laid back in the hot sand, wondering if this had been a suicide mission all along. That would be disappointing, considering they’d made it.

She was thirsty. You didn’t usually notice you were thirsty while people were trying to kill you, so it came as a bit of a shock to her. Finally, she closed her eyes. When she opened them, prompted by a tapping on the shoulder, the sun was midway through the sky, on a valiant descent. Lonnie was on a speeder, her nose bandaged. On that speeder was a large woman.

“Huntara?” Catra asked, her vision blurry and filled with tears.

Then, she saw that it was the Force Captain. Scorpia, with mighty claws and a similarly muscular frame. She wore a red uniform, and her hair was a gorgeous white.

“Hey!” she said cheerfully. “Lord Hordak sent me for pickup.”

Catra slowly made her way onto the speeder. Back to the Fright Zone, she would go. She had on her waist seeds, seeds that would bring life to the Fright Zone. Ironic that the Princess used plants as a weapon in an effort to keep them from getting seeds to make their own plants. They would have watched them starve if it had been of convenience to them.

Catra had a major success, but back there in that tunnel was a body nobody would find, buried only under caved-in rocks and clay. She pressed her face into his hands, and looked at Lonnie. They silently agreed that the cost hadn’t been worth it. They didn’t know Huntara; they didn’t need to know her through her whole life. They had seen her once that life was over, and that told them everything they needed to know.

“You saved me,” Lonnie said.

“Yeah,” Catra said distantly.

“You going soft, Force Captain?”

Catra laughed. “No way. Don’t take your chances, rookie.”

“Sounds like you two had quite the adventure!” Scorpia said as the speeder’s engines flamed their way to life.

“Yeah,” Lonnie said, growing suddenly cold.

Scorpia tossed them each a bottle of water. Catra greedily gulped it down, and smiled at Scorpia. Lonnie and Catra moved closer to one another.

“You promise not to leave me behind anymore?” Lonnie asked. “I’m not after your position.”

“I promise,” Catra said. “You forgive me for stealing from you?”

“Why not?” Lonnie asked.

“One more thing,” Catra said. “You promise not to get in my way?”

“Sure,” Lonnie said. “Of your rise through the ranks?”

“No,” Catra said sternly. “On my path to Adora.”

Lonnie looked away. “Yeah,” she said. “She’s yours.”

The two shared a look. They laughed. They laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

There was nothing to laugh about, nothing funny.

They laughed anyways.


	4. Be Arisen

“Geodites,” Bow said.

“Geodites,” Adora repeated.

“Yes,” Bow responded.

“That is a stupid name,” Adora said.

“I disagree,” Bow said.

“Why do you disagree?” Adora asked.

“I think it perfectly describes them.”

Before them was gathered a collection of mages, using what limited power they had to create crystals from the air. Forming them together haphazardly, they created faceless creatures of varying colors. From pink to blue, they formed the crystals into dozens of soldiers in a minute. An overwhelming force in terms of number. Some had blades on their arms, others spears. Others still had asymmetrical hands, with mismatched fingers which crackled with magical energy. Simplistic creations, yet altogether threatening.

Well, threatening in terms of appearance, at least. As Bow proved with a single blow, they broke easily.

“No core strength,” Bow said. “They look scary and they’re big in numbers, but they can’t take a hit. It has to do with the rapid pace of their creation. The Empress is a big fan of the appearance side of things, but not much for the utilitarian angle. I would know, seeing as I designed the geodites myself.”

“They’re magical creatures.”

“Adora, I’m the best marksman in Bright Moon, not to mention the Hegemony’s tech expert. I didn’t make the geodites, but I drew them out.”

“Using data pad drawing software?”

Bow’s eyes widened. “The Horde has data pad drawing software?” he asked.

Adora shrugged. “You got a problem?” she asked.

“Well, I’m thinking about defecting just for that, but otherwise, no.”

“So you really don’t have drawing software?”

“No. I drew everything out on parchment.”

“Like a barbarian?” Adora asked.

“...No?” Bow responded in a manner best described as chillingly articulate in its fury.

“Sorry,” Adora said. “Lord Hordak says stuff like ‘parchment is the language of those without the civilization to create data-pad software.’ He’s big on the tech angle, that one.”

“He’s not an idiot, though.”

“No,” Adora said. “Not even a little.”

Lord Hordak had a throne. The Empress had a throne. Why had she herself not earned a throne? After all, she had ten times the power of Lord Hordak, and would soon equal the Empress in might, if not charisma and generosity, fields which she had already vanquished her in.

All in due time, Adora reminded herself. After all, the Empress still exceeded her in power, not to mention that in terms of allies, she was severely lacking. Bow, though civil, wasn’t likely to be on her side in a coup. No, what Adora would need first and foremost was Glimmer to join her side, so she could claim her role, her rightful duty.

Of course, those pontifications were not Adora’s strong suit. Bow looked at her uneasily. Apparently, she had been staring into space for six whole minutes. Turning back to him, she looked upon him and tilted her head.

“Bow, how do you feel about the fact I beat up your girlfriend?”

The moment she said such words, she wanted to retract them. Bow merely furrowed his brow and looked at the mages, who tirelessly continued in crafting the geodites. At last, Bow adjusted the tie of his newfound silver suit.

“I’m not happy about it. I understand it, though. She picked a fight with you. I’m not sure you couldn’t have put her down a bit more peacefully, but it’s hard to fault you for fighting back.”

“No hard feelings?” she asked.

“None,” Bow responded. “Revenge is a suckers’ game, after all, and we’ve got bigger plans.”

“What are those plans, by the way?”

“Oh, today, we meet the Hegemonic Council.”

“The Hegemonic Council?”

Bow paused and stuttered. “Are-are you just gonna keep repeating things I say? Right, that’s what I said.”

“Sorry,” Adora responded. “It’s hard to process things. I just, it’s like a mental rush.”

“Really?” Bow asked, raising an eyebrow curiously. “I’m interested in what it’s like. What does this mental rush tell you about?”

_Power_.

“Food,” Adora lied.

“Power,” Bow said.

“What?” Adora asked.

“Your facial contortions, the Sword’s name, the legacy of Miro. Power. You want power.”

Adora shook her head. “Not a chance.”

Bow blinked a few times. “Adora, do you honestly think you’ve fooled me?”

“Nnnnnnnnyes?” Adora asked.

Bow turned around. “Sure,” he said. Finally, he began to walk away.

The two stood upon the ever-expanding floating fortress that was Mystacor. Wrapped in crumbling stone walls which were constantly rebuilt, crafted in the form of a castle, the walls scattered in the writings of the First Ones, writings of purity and of magic, they were safe. Safe, at least, from those who could not access it due to its barrier.

Yet always did shadows stalk Mystacor; it was said among the mages, whispered in hushed tones, that the doom which had come to the floating isle was that of Shadow Weaver’s making, that the sorcerer had come from nothing and risen to just enough power so as to cast the Spell of Obtainment.

Adora pushed the thought aside. If the time came to clash with Shadow Weaver, she would relish the opportunity to see her caretaker grovel at her feet. To shatter the mask which she wore and to see her beg for mercy would be divine. The only thing moreso would be to grant her said mercy and see her indebted forever to the ones she had hurt.

Adora felt a compulsion when she saw Bow’s hand move to its back. The golden bracer on her arm, a golden runestone glowing within, was the blade which she had been granted by the First Ones. Through blood within her veins had she been handed this power, and through fire would she claim the Fright Zone and the admiration of the Hegemony. Then, when Angella fell before her, she would have it all.

Baby steps, Adora. Baby steps.

The compulsion was, of course, urging her to reform her blade and to run Bow through. However, it was tempered quickly by her will. Bow was her ally, and even if he were not, she would not kill. The rules of the war dictated that there would be no killing.

Yet now it was that Adora questioned where Catra was. Did she cry, thinking of Adora? Did she seek power in the Horde? Perhaps she had misjudged her and Catra had never even cared. Either way, they would come face to face soon enough.

There was a sensation. A voice, another voice within her which urged her to claim power. Not so soon, she told it. It would come. Assuaged by this promise, the voice receded entirely, and Adora returned to control.

“So, Hegemonic Council?” Adora asked. “What’s that like?”

Bow chuckled. “Picture a loose assortment of character defects.”

“So, like everyone else I’ve met in the Hegemony.”

Bow laughed at that. “See? You’re catching on!” he exclaimed.

They walked through winding corridors, stalked forever by the darkness which seemed rather insistent upon following Adora wherever she went, much to her frustration. A few times, Adora thought she saw the shadow of bat wings on the wall, but they were always gone too quickly.

At last, they arrived at a room with two bronze doors. Upon the doors were emblazoned the sigil of Mystacor, a hand glowing with an orb of pure magical power. The emblazoning was in pink, the arm robed as well in that manner, with a small bit of white fur on the end of it.

“So,” Bow said. “We’re here. You ready to meet the Princesses?”

“Yeah,” Adora said. “Who should I look out for?”

“Frosta,” Bow said. “She will punch you. It’s just how she says hello.”

Somehow, Adora got the feeling that wasn’t much of a concern.

“Anyone else?”

“Perfuma’s been in a mood. Sounds like she had to do a lot of paperwork after the Crimson Waste incident.”

“Waste incident?” Adora asked.

“Horde troops secured a set of seeds. We don’t think they established a supply line, but someone assisting her decided to make a cheap shot anyways. One of the people involved is dead, and we all know how much Angella likes that.”

“What happened to the one assisting her?” Adora asked worriedly. “Who died?”

“Just a Waste merchant,” Bow said. “The dead one, I mean. The Horde soldiers made it out alright. Perfuma’s report has it as a girl with cat-like features and a strong young woman.”

Catra and Lonnie. Adora nearly threw up in her mouth at the thought of them dying. Suffering, certainly; suffering would be warranted at least in the case of Catra, but death was a step much too far for her own tastes.

“See, and that’s why geodites are incompetent,” Bow said. “Catra’s friend managed to take them all down in one punch. Perfuma was the only real threat out there, except for the creep. Tung Lashor. Big-shot gang boss out in the Waste. He wasn’t such a big shot once Perfuma stuck him to a sundew for a week. Guy’s alive, she let him go, but I wouldn’t cross her right now.”

“A sundew?” Adora asked.

“Look it up,” Bow responded. “Not a very nice thing.”

Adora made a mental note to do that at some point. Now, the time had come. She would meet the Princesses. The council, composed of every Princess; even Glimmer would be there. Her recovery had been swift, though according to rumor it had been similarly wrathful. Adora would need to make amends. Fortunately, years with Shadow Weaver meant she knew how people like Glimmer wanted to be treated.

Now came the hour. She would open the doors. She reached out her arm, and did so. At last, the meeting of the Princesses!

Oh.

Well, that was very empty.

The room had a circular table, with chairs for every Princess. The table reached eight chairs. That made sense.

After all, there were eight members of the Hegemonic Council when you completed a total. Bow was the only one without powers. The others would be the Princesses, of course. There was Perfuma, of Plumeria, Mermista of Salineas, Frosta of Snows, and of course Princesses Netossa and Spinnerella. Empress Angella also had a seat, as now did Adora, the She-Ra.

Bow calmly took his seat. “Don’t mind if we’re a little early,” he said. “I had to do an inspection.”

Bow promptly began looking under every single chair. To Adora’s surprise, he found small, circular devices, which blinked yellow. Crushing every single one in his hand, he was composed and capable. It seemed this had not been his first time doing this.

“Espionage,” he said once he had finished off the last one. “Easy enough to deal with. You never know who wants to spy on the meetings. Plenty of interested parties.”

Bow took his crossbow from his back. There was a window on the room’s cyan back wall, made of glass. Without turning, Bow turned a knob on its side, opening it. He stuck his tongue out slightly, pressing it to his right lip, and then biting down on said lip. His eyes flickered back and forth, and at last, something flew by. Bow fired his crossbow twice without even looking, and Adora felt her reflexes grow enhanced. At last, she saw what he had shot. It had been a Horde drone, a small, spherical flying creature with blades on its top. He had pinned a crossbow bolt in its singular eye, and one struck deep into its form. It sparked, and exploded as it fell.

“Lord Hordak is predictable,” Bow said. “He sends drones around Hegemony territory all the time. Easy enough to destroy, but they’re pretty annoying.”

“How much do you know about him?” Adora asked as she took her seat.

“I know he’s a bit of a tyrant. Military dictatorship and all, though, so I guess it comes with the territory. The Empress thinks he’s a lunatic.”

“What do you think?” Adora asked.

Bow aimed his crossbow at the underside of the table, and then ducked below it. Plucking a dozen more of the circular devices, he finally tossed them all out the window, before firing a single bolt. Once more did Etheria itself slow as Adora watched a red blinking on the side of the bolt. Then, there was a small explosion. Then, no more listening devices.

“I think Lord Hordak is my opponent in a war, and I think he needs to either surrender or lose.”

“Your opponent?” Adora asked.

“ _Our_ opponent,” Bow corrected himself. “The Hegemony’s.”

“What do you think about his tactical skill?”

Bow looked uneasily around the room. “I think he’s good,” he admitted cautiously. “I think he’s clearly got military experience. Not only that, I think he’s a genius with tech. Not good at advancing it too far, but he made that barrier with serious ease. It’s specifically designed to filter out magic, not to mention people. Only thing that gets in or out are things he allows in or out.”

“Alright,” Adora said. “Politically?”

“I think, politically, Lord Hordak is the opposing faction in a war. We can talk the intricacies of his policy after that war’s ended.”

“So, no opinion?” Adora asked.

“What’s your opinion?” Bow asked politely. “Tactical and political.”

“Tactically, I’m with you. Gotta admit, he’s good at his job. Politically, I think he’s easy to find wanting. His whole ‘oh, everything’s a war’ approach doesn’t exactly raise morale. Neither does his tendency to yell at his troops every five minutes, or hide in the sanctum. Still, he rewards people based on what they can do for him.”

“Not bad,” Bow said. “You know, there are merits to his policies when it comes down to it. He is in a war, and making everyone into manpower isn’t the worst tactic he could have. He did institute rules against killing, meaning he doesn’t waste lives either.”

“You think he’s got some kind of weird code?” Adora asked.

“You know more about him than I do,” Bow responded. “What do you think?”

“Well, I think he’s a pragmatist first and foremost,” Adora said. “I don’t know, something about his whole thing where he assigns people on merit, it’s all practicality. I don’t think Lord Hordak’s got much in terms of a code.”

“He did run roughshod over villages while we were in a more even war,” Bow said. “Minimal casualties, though.”

“Yeah, but so do we,” Adora said.

_We_. So odd to refer to herself as part of the Hegemony. Not merely part of it, but among the most powerful members of it.

“Not untrue,” Bow responded. “Still, his whole ‘pillage and burn’ thing wasn’t doing anyone favors. Mindlessly destructive.”

“Really?” Adora asked. “I don’t think that’s an accurate description.”

Bow sighed and conceded. “Probably not much of the pillaging,” he said. “Hordak was not a pillaging person. He took what he needed and he let the refugees and survivors go.”

“Exactly,” Adora said. “No point in killing unnecessarily.”

“Look, I’m uncomfortable talking about this,” Bow said. “I don’t want to discuss Lord Hordak.”

“Fair enough,” Adora responded. “We’ve got our own thing going on.”

She set all thoughts of the tyrant aside. It was then that she heard a knock on the door. Then, a smashing sound. A small child burst through, with fists of ice. She leapt toward Adora, who nonchalantly caught her icy blow, and set her down. The child looked up at her in shock.

“So this is Princess Frosta?” she asked. “Shorter than I thought.”

Frosta growled.

“Hey,” Adora said. “I’ve got no problem with you. The Horde sees you as a raging monster on the battlefield, and I’m of no mind to correct them.”

That seemed to make Frosta smile.

Next came silently the Princess Perfuma. She seemed to float across all surfaces as though a ghost, a force of nature. Her beautiful visage was accompanied by a sort of spectral grace as she approached, taking her seat. Her eyes were dead and soulless.

Next warped into the room Glimmer. She glared at Adora, and if looks could kill, the She-Ra would most certainly be dead on the spot. Adora looked to Glimmer, whose face was still bruised, and beckoned her into the hallway. The two met in a cyan and golden corridor, with constellation charts across the walls and glass windows.

“You want another round?” Glimmer asked, seeming to prepare herself.

“No,” Adora said, steadying Glimmer. “I want the opposite, actually. I’m sorry about how I acted a week ago. I really am.”

With all the eloquence and manipulative skill she could muster, Adora took a knee before Glimmer and kissed her hand. Glimmer looked at her in apparent shock, eyes widening. This was the She-Ra, bending the knee to her, a mere Princess, unloved even by her own mother Angella. Glimmer turned away, shaking.

So, it seemed she had done her work. Princess Glimmer looked back to her, and then extended a hand, having turned around. Adora took it, and rose to her feet.

“You are the rightful heir to the throne,” Adora said.

“Thank you,” Glimmer said.

It was easy. Of course it was. Glimmer would take anything, any acceptance, if it meant she was accepted. That was what made her so valuable to Adora; she would truly befriend Glimmer, and when the time came, she would not even betray her. The Princess would step aside, for she would have no other choice. Patience, Adora.

_Patience_. Patience, then power.

“So, it’s that easy?” Adora asked. “You forgive me for the beating I gave you?”

Glimmer scowled. “I haven’t forgiven you. I’m just not completely insane. I’m not gonna fight the She-Ra. It’s not worth it. Instead, I’m gonna work alongside you. For now, at least. Let’s be clear, though. I want your utter obedience, and when it comes time that I take the throne, you will kneel before me just like you did just now.”

Glimmer shook. There was a visible anxiety in her every word, yet still she spoke. At last, it was done.

“Good,” Adora responded. “Now, let’s go back to the meeting as allies.”

Adora would not kneel before Glimmer when that moment came. Their battle had concluded. They both knew exactly what was going to happen when it came time for a coup; such a thing was an inevitability rather than possibility. It was merely a matter of time. Now, to return to the room and to seek the alliance of the rest of the Hegemonic Council.

Once they had entered the room, Adora saw two new and beautiful Princesses. They were resplendent in their glory, wearing identical pink suits. On the right, with an elegant disposition, was Netossa, her fantastically beautiful hair even better in the light of the sun. On the left, Spinnerella, who appeared warm and joyous in expression and in affection toward her wife, a hand on her shoulder.

“So, the only person missing is--”

Then Adora heard a horn sound off. Ever so slightly horrified, she turned around, and saw a man in a blue coat behind her. He blew on a trumpet twice, and she saw a brown mustache on his face. Cyan flags on the trumpet flew haphazardly, and he bowed before the Princesses.

“And now, it is my honor to present the ruler of Etheria’s seas and commander of her divinity’s fleets! The slayer of the seductive and savage, yet strange, stealthy and scheming Salineas Sea Serpent! The crusher of the Sea Elf rebellion, and the wielder of the trident of former King Tritos! The ruler of seas, beautiful and strong in equal measure, not to mention imbued with divine power by the First Ones and godlike unto herself! Now, be honored to prostrate yourselves before Princess Mermista, rightful ruler of Salineas and the captain of the H.D.S. _Empress_!”

The light shone divinely upon Princess Mermista, who wore a cyan suit. A trident was slung over her back, and she dripped with sea water in a manner which was nigh-indescribable. Then, she ran a hand through her black hair, and dictated her first proclamation.

“Hey,” she said flippantly.

Adora had to admit she expected a little more. Still, she couldn’t hide her enthusiasm. A room composed entirely of Princesses, the thing the Horde had taught her to fear all her life, and yet they all stood by her side. She smiled with glee and walked back to her seat. She and Glimmer sat down, as did Mermista. The man in the blue coat dragged in a stool, and sat upon that behind Mermista. She gently cupped his face, and Adora noticed hidden upon his belt what appeared to be the hilt of a saber, without the rest of it present. Odd.

Now, at last was the Hegemonic Council, except for Angella, gathered. Adora smiled, and saw Bow, who nodded to her. Mermista gestured to Adora.

“So, who’s this rookie?” she asked.

“Oh, me?” Adora responded nervously.

All eyes were on her. Bow and Glimmer knew her identity well, Glimmer through force. They would recognize her deeds through her other name, but not through that of Adora of the Fright Zone. No, it would be a revelation. With every air of confidence she could muster, Adora sought to rise; the voice which demanded more might, more power in every second, spoke louder now than it ever had before. Thus, Adora smiled and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, me?” she asked.

“Yeah, you,” Mermista responded.

“You mean me?”

“Yeah, you, rookie. What’s going on? They don’t let just anybody on the Hegemonic Council, so what’s your deal? You another of the Empress’s pets? Some new commander?”

“She’s wearing a Scorpion Kingdom jacket,” Frosta pointed out.

Scorpion Kingdom? Now, that was new. Indeed, she supposed that with its red color scheme, it likely had come from the original Scorpion Kingdom. Although the Black Market had branded it an Old Horde jacket, nobody knew quite what the Old Horde was. Had, perhaps, the denizens of that kingdom chosen to rebel without the influence of Lord Hordak? A mystery for another time, Adora supposed.

“So,” Netossa said curiously, staring at Adora. “Who are you?”

“I think we’d all like that answered,” Bow said with a smile.

“Yeah,” Glimmer agreed.

“Oh, me?” Adora asked.

A nod from every member of the Council.

“I’m She-Ra.”

**~Hegemony~**

Catra stood once again in the throne room of Lord Hordak. The conqueror sat before her, head positioned atop his fists. He looked at Catra curiously, as though analysing her like a machine. He searched for defects.

“Sir?” Catra finally asked. It had been ten minutes.

“Yes,” Lord Hordak said, looking to her. “I suppose we must _speak_ , unfortunate as that may be.”

“Okay,” Catra said.

“Your mission report.”

“Right.”

“It speaks of a merchant woman. The one who sold us the seeds. It speaks of how she perished. Is this factually accurate?”

“She was dead,” Catra said.

Hordak looked down to the floor. There was something on his face; a reservation, perhaps, kept him from speaking. For a couple seconds, his mouth seemed to twitch. It curled into his typical grimace, and he stood up. He walked toward Catra, stopping at the end of the steps. Catra moved back, lest she incur the ire of the Fright Zone’s ruler.

“I see,” Lord Hordak at last said through gritted teeth.

“Lord Hordak, I will…”

Catra thought for a moment. To admit it was her that had been the cause of it, her betrayal and her malice, not to mention her cowardice, would surely doom her. She had gotten the seeds. She had acquired everything they needed, and Shadow Weaver was properly preparing the aquaponics bay as they spoke. In fact, it seemed the sorcerer had already set up a set of daisies outside the bay. Catra had succeeded in her mission, and acquired the food source.

“Lord Hordak, I did as the mission commanded.”

“Yes,” Hordak said, looking around the room.

Above their heads flew a bat-winged creature with green skin and a cherubic face. Imp, as the Force Captain recalled. He flew to Lord Hordak’s shoulder, and the overlord gently stroked the small being’s chin. It nuzzled his face with great affection, and Lord Hordak turned his attention back to Catra.

“I do suppose you are impressive.”

He grew nearer. Catra stood as firmly as she could in the face of his overwhelming stature. He approached with great deliberation, and at last she kneeled before the ruler. He looked at her, then around the room.

Then Imp spoke. The little creature spoke with Lonnie’s voice.

“ _And that’s when she told us to go. She was gonna use us as a distraction. She’s not a bad person, honestly. She’s just got trust issues_.”

Catra immediately made an attempt to scamper back. A set of red energy shields put a stop to such ambitions immediately. She was trapped within them, within a wall that slowly closed in.

“Force Captain Catra, you would betray your comrades for an opportunity at life? You show cowardice in the face of danger?”

Catra looked at the walls. When they were done, they would crush her. The most painful death she could possibly experience. With her eyes on Lord Hordak, illuminated in violent crimson which contrasted the scarlet of the energy shields, Catra stood once more. The shields crackled with energy.

“Do it yourself,” she said.

Lord Hordak looked perplexed by this, initially. Then, he looked upon her with curiosity. A genuine curiosity.

Tapping a button on his left arm, Lord Hordak undid the shield’s existence.

He paced around her like an animal. At any moment, Catra believed he would strike, and rend her asunder. She shivered, yet stood strong.

“Tell me, Force Captain, what need have I to spare you? One who let a merchant who served our interests die in a mission? A Force Captain who, on her very first mission, attempted to betray her comrades and send them to capture, capture where they could deliver valued information into the hands of the enemy.”

Catra followed him with her eyes. There was an exact pattern to his movements. The way he circled her had a rhythm, a certain pace which he adhered to firmly.

“Why exactly should I sully my hands with your miserable death? Why should I not have you exiled to Beast Island?”

Inconsistency. The first sign of a bluff. A second ago, Lord Hordak had threatened to crush her. As she had deduced, he intended to do nothing of the sort.

“Because you don’t want to,” she said. “I’ve developed past that flaw.”

“And is that to incentivize me against your disappearance?”

“I’m crafty. Brilliant. Treacherous.”

“Precisely,” Lord Hordak said. “Which is why you are a threat to the safety of the Horde.”

“Alright,” Catra responded, cracking her neck with a quick tilt to the side. “So, you gonna get rid of Shadow Weaver too?”

“Shadow Weaver has gifts,” Hordak responded. “Sorcery. She trained the other between you to be Force Captain. Adora. A warrior of beautiful caliber with her own gifts.”

“Yeah?” Catra responded, gesturing to herself with her thumb as he continued in the pattern. “I don’t have powers. I don’t have gifts. I’m not the worthy lieutenant Adora is. I’m just a nobody. A stray alley cat, left outside the Fright Zone in a box because not even my parents wanted me. Paranoid and treacherous, got a nasty mean streak, but I’m also clever and resourceful. I came from nothing, but a mission led by me, despite its mis-steps, managed to acquire the necessary item. I’ve been a success, and if you let me keep going, I can be even more of a success. I’m not perfect. I know that even more than you. I lack discipline. I’m a better thief than I am a warrior, but the Horde has plenty of warriors. You don’t need a warrior. You don’t need a sorcerer. You need a thief. You don’t want another Scorpia, another Shadow Weaver.”

_You don’t want another Adora_ , Catra thought. She kept that one to herself. Sure, Adora lacked her treacherous qualities, but she was a better soldier and Catra knew it.

“You can do whatever you want to me,” Catra said with a defiant smirk. “ _Or_ you can let me do my job. I’m not gonna screw up again. I’m not gonna betray my team again.”

Hordak approached her. For a second, Hordak drifted from the routine. Catra was tempted to turn and run, in the event that he was coming closer to end her life. Unsurprisingly, he raised his left hand. There was a dull red circle on his palm, which he directed toward Catra’s face.

“I will _end you_ ,” he snarled.

Catra could feel herself shaking. Still, she brandished her claws in front of her face. Lord Hordak seemed intrigued by this. The circle on his hand began to glow.

Was this how it ended? Put down by the man who ruled the Fright Zone? If so, she would go out fighting. That was the thing with her; she was like an animal. She’d do anything to survive, to rise, to keep fighting another day, but you didn’t wanna put her in a corner. If the odds were against her and she saw no way out, she would fight for her life like anyone would.

“Go ahead,” she said. “Your mistake.”

Lord Hordak gritted his red teeth. Then, at last, he closed his palm. The circle dulled in coloration, and he stepped back.

“Impressive,” he said as he slowly returned to his throne. “Next time, take responsibility for your failure. I have seen you do it before, Force Captain. I expect a certain level of consistency.”

That was the issue. You raised expectations, suddenly people started holding you to them. Still, Catra was in no place to bargain.

“I continue to need your services,” Lord Hordak stated. “You will receive no punishment for your actions. You have the cadet, Lonnie, to thank for that. She put in a good word. You will find that I trust those under my command. You will even find that, when pushed, I will perform maintenance on them. However, you must recondition yourself. I have greater concerns than you, and if I so deem it, I will not allow another chance. Is that clear, Force Captain?”

Catra nodded. She supposed if she got off scot-free, that could work. She would indeed thank Lonnie after the fact.

“In addition… Huntara. The merchant we lost. She was a valued member of the Horde. Do you know where the body is?”

“No,” Catra said.

“I see,” Hordak said. He clasped his hands, concealing his mouth.

“Presumably, the Hegemony got her. It was a third party, so we can’t do anything.”

“I would not like to break our pact anyways,” Lord Hordak said. “A single merchant of the Waste is not worth allowing death once more. Still, there will be a tribute for Huntara. A funeral, as your culture would deem it. Her name will be added to the memorial as well.”

“Oh,” Catra said. “Did your people not have funerals?”

“Not one you would find acceptable. Let it simply be said we did not let our dead go to waste.”

Catra shuddered at the thought. Perhaps Lord Hordak’s people were cannibals, who consumed their dead. While implausible, that would be outright horrific. Catra would do a lot of awful things to survive, but she would never eat someone else. Well, maybe Kyle if he got some more meat on that skinny body of his, but probably not even Kyle. He’d taste gross.

“She was of great use to me,” Hordak said. “I hope the knowledge that we mourn the fallen will remind all who serve me that they are not alone in their struggle. Unity will increase.”

Catra couldn’t see his face from where she sat. His voice boomed across the throne room, rippling and powerful. Lord Hordak looked up at her at last.

“Any questions, Force Captain? Additional information?”

“Would you really have killed me?” Catra asked.

Lord Hordak moved his hands to the arms of his throne. “ _Get out_ ,” he said coldly.

That answered her question. No, he wouldn’t. A bluff. Even if he demoted her, even if he didn’t care in the slightest about her life, he would not be so foolish as to murder his own subordinate merely for displeasing him.

“Wait,” he said as she reached the door.

Catra stopped.

“Never mind,” Lord Hordak said.

Catra left.

With a tap of a button, Lord Hordak had sent for Shadow Weaver. He returned to his sanctum. It grew darker and messier than before. He could feel his body begin to break. He wiped the smearing makeup from his watering eyes.

Huntara was dead. Gone. He dismissed the green Imp. It fluttered away without a care in the world. As he wandered into the cavern of wires, the tyrant felt his arm grow heavier. If he slept, they would come back. It was not only that pain was penance. It was that he now detested rest for that which it did to his mind. Nightmares, Etherians would call them.

He could remember every second of the slaughter. A last mission, Prime had said. To save and to honor the Horde. Then, he had launched him off into space. Prime’s plan must have been truly brilliant, for as far as Lord Hordak could tell, if not for a stray portal he would never have been saved. To think this hell was his salvation. He spat on the floor, only to realize his saliva was a bright green.

He needed her. He needed to see her. She could save him.

In spite of that, he knew she would never come back. Never! He slammed the machines, and felt pain rumble throughout his form. All he wanted was to see her again. To know she was by his side once more, and that he was safe. Safety was all he asked.

Then arrived Shadow Weaver, wrapped in black tendrils in addition to her robes. She had a brand new mask, forged to cover her again. Lord Hordak stood as he interfaced through his left arm with the machinery. Instant technopathy; just one of the many abilities he was granted. An interface with any technology. A shame technology did not think or feel, nor did it care for his struggles.

It began to do its work. Shadow Weaver approached just as it finished the still painful process of repairing his arm. At last, the one-armed Lord Hordak turned to his second in command. He looked at her coldly.

“Take that mask off,” he commanded.

“Yes, sire--” she exclaimed frantically.

“ _Now_ ,” he ordered.

She scrambled to remove her mask. Her face was scarred and ruined, yet altogether still in its own way beautiful. Burnt flesh and damaged points did not undo that there was a sense of cruel beauty to the woman. Still, it was not her appearance which had caused him to decree her his second in command; no, Prime would have him cleansed for even thinking of beauty as an element of personality.

To devolve to such primal thoughts was a mark of how long he had been down here. His duty was to Prime, and to Prime he pledged all allegiance, from body to mind to soul. Hordak was not to be reduced to one of the _animals_ trapped on Etheria, reduced to thoughts which would defy the duty he had sworn himself to.

Once more did he slam a piece of machinery. It only brought more pain. He looked to Shadow Weaver, who looked ashamed.

“Is the work done?”

She nodded.

“I will not have you masked in my presence while my own deformities are on full display. My defects, as it were. We are equals at most charitable.”

“What do you want?” she asked.

He sighed. What did he want? He supposed he wanted to talk things over. To “touch base,” as it were. He was not unaware of Shadow Weaver, and who she was. He had ears everywhere. Every shadow in the dark, every monster in every murky alley, every last nightmare, were all his to command. They answered to him. To think the Hegemony thought he was so foolish as to use drones on a consistent basis.

“How goes things on your front? I suppose you have been taking the loss of Adora hard.”

Shadow Weaver nodded nervously. Hardly ever did he summon someone solely to talk. Still, he was weak. Again, she was tempted to end him now. Again, she rejected the temptation. She needed him on the throne; his tactical mind was greater than hers. Lord Hordak could handle the military matters, she could handle personal matters. Like a game of chess, with the two uneasy partners until the moment it came that the queen would take her own king.

She had to admit she had grown a little fond of the zealot. Lord Hordak was a determined man, willing to punish himself. He toiled day after day, night after night, on his secret project. If only she could know what that secret project was. Still, he was losing composure. Now was her chance.

“What is it, Lord Hordak?” she said softly.

Hordak sat down. “I grow weary. My movements grow difficult. How fare our relations with Dryl?”

“I will dispatch Catra soon.”

“Good,” he said in a curt manner. “I must speak to its Princess.”

He dared not speak her name. It was Entrapta, of course, that he needed to speak to, yet he could not say such things openly. His heart could not bear to say her name again. Lord Hordak recalled what they had been, what they _had_ together, and again he felt the urge to lash out and destroy. He resisted, keeping barely any last vestige of dignity even as his body fell apart.

“Come now, Lord Hordak? Surely your attachment to Princess Entrapta is not interfering with your work? You should rest. You are tired.”

Reluctantly, Hordak nodded. Then, he felt a hand upon his face. It was cold, clammy, like the touch of one long since lost. He looked up, and saw Shadow Weaver.

“Lord Hordak, you should know I am here to serve you. I am here to tend to you in your hour of need.”

Hordak’s eyes widened. Shadow Weaver leaned closer, and the tyrant felt his body begin to shake. He clenched his fist. She backed away, and elegantly moved a strand of hair over her face.

“Let me ease your pain,” she said. “I can soothe you. Aid you. Give in, my lord, and my magic shall show you reinvigoration.”

Hordak looked at her, feeling his right eye twitching. Again he wiped the smeared makeup, leaving his remaining arm marred with black smudges. There was a rush of some feeling, of temptation, but then once again did he recall who he was. He was not some foolish child, driven on by naive fantasies and strange urges, infecting him. Still, as he saw her approach once more, cautious yet firm in her every step, he could not help but nearly collapse.

He was defective. He knew better than to think she meant any charity toward him, for none could. Still, in spite of all he knew, his body seemed to function on its own. She would take control of him, become his puppeteer, if he ever so much as allowed her to touch him with one of her spells.

“You need me,” she cooed. “I can do so much for you. I have countless spells. Surely one will stop your agony?”

Hordak looked away, just as ashamed as she had been. Level-headedly, Shadow Weaver returned her mask to her face. The two looked away from one another, and then Hordak’s glowing red eyes met the illusion of white eyes upon Shadow Weaver’s mask.

“Yes, come to me, Lord Hordak. Take what you want. Let your pain be eased through my power. Forget your troubles, if only for now. Forget that which ails you. Forget that feeling of worthlessness within our minds. Forget Princess Entrapta.”

Hordak’s head snapped back. Suddenly, his mind was clear. Shadow Weaver approached, and he felt himself slip nearly back into old habits; now, however, there was a far worse urge, one far more horrific than that which was brought upon him by years without Prime’s hand guiding him away from sin. Now, he desired only to watch the life ebbing from Shadow Weaver’s eyes. To hear her final breath for this insult to Entrapta.

Then he recalled it. The way Prime had done such to a faulty brother. The way the man had come, thinking that he would earn the favor of Prime in ambition, and had found his life taken, before he was disposed of as though he had never been there.

Hordak stayed his hand. These were privileges reserved for Prime. He looked to Shadow Weaver with shame for each feeling which had been generated. He gestured to the door.

“You have given me all I need,” he said, his rage thinly veiled. “Now leave my sanctum. I merely needed your status report.”

He had nearly fallen into her clutches. It was not her fault, of course, but the tired manner of his body meant he had more difficulty. While she had no doubt merely intended to cozy up to him, he would not so easily succumb to such temptations. He was defective, he reminded himself, but he had taken great pains not to be a fool. This encounter was an error. If only he could reset himself, purge the memory of it. Not to be.

Perhaps he had been hoping for company. Someone to talk to. Now, he would never know. He sat back down. He could not help it. He was collapsing into sleep, one of many heresies he committed. Surely Prime would forgive even this? Sleep was failure, but Hordak supposed, after all, that he _was_ a failure. It was not an exception of any sort. Thus came rest in the cold embrace of unfeeling, unloving machinery.

Outside the sanctum’s door, Shadow Weaver sat. Even her best attempts had not succeeded. Now, however, she questioned why it had failed. He was vulnerable, whimpering. She had placated him, offered him her vast reservoir of spells so as to provide him healing, perverted as her magics were. Shadow Weaver had offered him any remedy he desired. She did not know how far she would go in attempting to appease the man.

Shadow Weaver slammed a fist upon her thigh. In seeking power, she had lost everything. The only thing she could do had been to create a hero, a good successor, in the form of Adora. If she could just produce something worthwhile, a Force Captain beyond her, she would have made it all worth it. Now, Adora was gone, thanks to that damned brat, and Shadow Weaver had one course of action which remained.

It had been their fault! It had been the responsibility of the Hegemony to keep those who sought power from it, and she had only wanted to stop the Horde. Instead, they had pressured her into casting the spell and then cast her aside the moment she was no longer of use to them. Where was there to go but the Horde?

The Horde was her ally. The Fright Zone was a refuge for those the Hegemony no longer wanted. All those cast out by the empires of Etheria and tossed aside, those corrupted and those who failed, they had a home under Lord Hordak’s watchful eye. They had to prove their merit, of course, but it was ten times better than living on the streets, or worse, a lifelong sentence in the mines. Shadow Weaver had to make a few daring escapes in her time.

Poor Castaspella. Trapped under the mad Empress’s will. Poor Micah. For all she taunted the Empress about him, she knew that he must have suffered. She could only hope he died according to the official record, not because of any monstrous feat behind the closed doors of the Hegemony. A place of polished floors and glowing hearts, hearts which hid dirty secrets.

The Hegemony was just as evil as all people were. At least the Horde openly confessed it. Shadow Weaver was powerful, yet she could not take from Lord Hordak that which she deserved. A last, hopeless bid for power. She would debase herself for that power.

So she slammed her fist upon her thigh and rose again. She was Shadow Weaver. Not some disgusting, cheap serving woman. She was among the most powerful mages in all Etheria. She merely needed time. A proper time to betray Lord Hordak was everything. If she played her cards right, she could take power, whether to concede to the side of the Empress or to form her own faction.

Shadow Weaver supposed she was not in too good a mental state either. There was a part of her which she could not deny that had longed to hold something warm. She spoke lightly words of venomous contempt, but she would not have gone farther than toying with him. In the end, what she had wanted was perhaps to hold any last sliver of power she could acquire after recent events, or to feel worthwhile again. To give him just enough that he would grow helpless and desire more, a more which he would never receive. Alas, not to be.

Besides, Hordak was weak and foolish even now. He would be even weaker when war came to the Fright Zone. A small creature skittered through one of the vents above her, surely vermin of the Fright Zone, and she supposed she would need to get back to work.

**~Hegemony~**

On the balcony of Bright Moon’s citadel stood the Empress. She’d never shown up to the meeting. The Council could handle things. She trusted them just enough.

They were good children, although they had almost all reached adulthood by this point. As Angella leaned over the marble railing, she looked across her entire shining kingdom. What sacrifices, what misfortunes, had been required to get to this point. Once again she wondered whether it was worth it.

She had distanced herself from her daughter. She had to. There was no other choice. If they found out… no, she didn’t want to think of something like that.

The most powerful being in Etheria. Akin to a goddess, yet now it was that the She-Ra would succeed her. They had selected her.

She would pray, beg, plead, but there was no release. She did not want release. No. She wanted power, but power bound in chains was a facade. She would sever those chains, break them and shatter them. Then came the freezing wind. She supposed she liked the wind. She couldn’t feel pain, but it nibbled at her sides and stimulated her senses.

The world was below her. She supposed that was vengeance. So far above all else that she could never reach out a hand to truly touch it. She had created a beautiful, glorious kingdom. There was violence necessary to be sure; all good came from evil. This was not a fairy tale.

Fairy tales. How she would have loved to read her daughter a fairy tale. To lie at her bedside and to regale her with stories. How the Empress wished she could have tucked her in to bed and let her sleep every night. Still, it was not to be.

She was the mother of Etheria. She cared for it. She nourished it. After the First Ones had taken the old woman, she was the only thing keeping it stable. Angella supposed that, in a certain sense, she was the one who disciplined flawed Etheria as well.

Beauty and power, her defining traits. Blessed as though an angel to stand high above all else. Then, he had come. How incredible he had been; she had thought mortals to be children before her, but then had he arrived with the wisdom of one wise beyond eternity. He embraced her, and she had embraced him in turn. They had a child together. For a moment, all was right.

Then eternity embraced him.

Now, she stood alone at the top of the world, her only comforts at the bottom of a wine glass. She had arrived through the downtrodden, through their enslavement. Again, good through evil. It was better that they toiled under her hospitality than that Etheria receive no aid.

Still, it would have been nice to hold her child once more.

He was coming, she knew. He would be here. It was a matter of only a year. He had not spoken to her in quite some time, but she remained assured he was coming.

Oh, yes. He was coming. Did she even want him to arrive?

She had built an empire, and surely she would have his gratitude. However, she wondered now if the price had been one she would pay again. A drop of white wine spilled over the edge of the balcony, and she looked out one last time over Bright Moon.

“Good night,” she said quietly.

Then, she wandered back in. Had it been worth it, in the end? Was she right to do as she did? To make her sacrifices? So much blood, so much pain, all for a regime. Perhaps that catlike child was correct. Her empire was still frayed. Still fractured. How she longed to channel the full might of every runestone!

Yet, such things were not to be. A little carving, a piece of each runestone merged with that of Bright Moon. The power was present, undeniable; such a state, however, was not how they were intended to be used. The Empress had a link to every runestone, but she could not unleash their true, full power. She gritted her teeth.

She crushed the glass. It didn’t matter. She looked to her bed, a massive bed prepared for her to sleep in. She didn’t sleep anymore. No longer did she need it. Once, a man had laid in that bed, waiting for her to come, to pretend she was asleep as she held him. Her entire life, her love, all built on lies. The lie that she was not superior.

The Empress would never change her ways. Every last one of her foes would fall. She would have no remorse. In the end, Lord Hordak would grovel before her, and she would grant him the same mercy which had been granted to Micah. Oh, she had played along with his rules against killing, but only because she would not see more of her people die by his hand. When the time came, she would leave nothing but ash remaining of Lord Hordak, and she would laugh about it.

So much blood, so much pain. So much she had sacrificed. Would she do it again?

Of course she would.


	5. Whispers

“ _You’re_ She-Ra?” Frosta asked, incredulous.

“Huh,” Netossa said calmly.

Mermista squinted with great disbelief.

Spinnerella smiled warmly.

Bow smiled, a smug smirk on his pretty face.

Of course, Glimmer wasn’t so inclined to smile.

Perfuma, on the other hand, stared intensely at Adora, as though sizing her up. Adora looked around the table awkwardly. She could feel all the power, every runestone.

“When does Angella get here?” Adora asked awkwardly.

“Never,” Bow said. “She’s probably sitting around drinking wine and mourning Micah.”

“Okay,” Adora responded.

“She-Ra…” Frosta muttered.

“Right,” Adora said.

“Y-you--”

“Right,” Adora repeated.

“Sword?” Mermista asked.

Within a second, the golden blade was in Adora’s hand. Everyone but Netossa gasped in shock. A young servant in a white suit and black bowtie wandered in. They had a silver tray in their hands, and they set the meal down on the table. With a flourish, they produced golden plates from their left sleeve. Setting aside the physical impossibility of such a thing, Adora had equal shock when they, from their right, produced silverware. Everyone at the table had a plate and proper silverware in a moment. Then, they continued, drawing a set of napkins from their collar and setting them out properly. At last, they finished by rushing out of the room, moving a cart in, and setting the tray on the cart. The council applauded.

“Context?” Adora asked, raising an eyebrow at the absurdity and decadence of a situation.

The servant took a bow. “My name is Da’el T’ermoil, spelled with an apostrophe before ‘e’ and an ‘e’ at the start of T’ermoil,” they said, before bending their knees. “And I am to assume you are the She-Ra?”

“Y-yes, I am,” Adora said, admittedly somewhat flabbergasted.

“This is Da’el,” Bow said. “They’ve worked for Angella for ten years. Basically, they were a master stage magician before they got here.”

“You guys have actual magic,” Adora said. “Why is there a market for stage magicians?”

“ _That_ is why I’m a servant now,” Da’el responded. “The Hegemony isn’t a place for people like me. No, I’m lucky to have a role here at all.”

“You could go work for the Horde,” Adora said jokingly. Da’el responded with a simple smirk.

Their appearance, beyond the suit, was an interesting one. Their flesh was a shade of light blue, their eyes a cold white, without pupils. Their boots had vine patterns along them. Their every motion was coordinated and flexible, performative and glamorous. At last, they assumed a simple and proper standing position.

“Well, I must bid you all ‘adieu,’ I suppose. And come find me if you want anything, anything at all, _She-Ra_.”

Adora nodded, and then immediately looked to the rest of the council. Bow had an expression which indicated he understood T’ermoil about as much as Adora did. The rest of the Princesses were looking around. The servant left the room completely. Bow looked between the Princesses, and finally he tapped a button on his wrist.

Adora began to eat, consuming everything she could. This was so much better than ration bars; these were more than nutrients, more than basic things needed to live. This was _food_. Adora chomped down on every last piece of food on her plate, from the fruit to the meat, and when she was done, wiped her mouth with a napkin. The others looked at her.

“So, today’s agenda?” Netossa asked.

“Nothing much,” Bow said. “Word is that the Horde intends to unleash a force of robots to take the Sea Elves’ villages, but I doubt it. More worrying is the notion of Dryl.”

“The Horde will attack Dryl?” Frosta asked.

Mermista spoke. “That’s impossible, Lord Hordak and Princess Entrapta haven’t communicated in years. Dryl is neutral.”

“Even the Empress can’t take it,” Netossa said, nodding. “Trust us, she’s tried. Entrapta’s valuable. Dryl has the largest stash of First Ones tech on Etheria, more than even us. Anyone who took her territory would have incredible power. That said, I find it highly doubtful that Lord Hordak is coming for Dryl in a military sense. No, he has other ways of taking her power.”

“Like what?” Frosta asked curiously.

“You already know,” Spinnerella responded.

“Yeah,” Frosta said with a smirk. “I do.”

Adora looked between them.

“They didn’t,” she said, hoping desperately they weren’t going to say what she thought they were.

“Lord Hordak seduced Princess Entrapta,” Mermista said. “By the time his sway over her had been broken, by the time she’d been disillusioned, she was so jaded with the war that she left.”

“So it’s personal,” Glimmer added.

“I don’t believe you,” Adora said. “If what I know of Entrapta is true—”

“It is,” Bow said. “She’s a genius. I had the honor of meeting her once. She looked me in the eye, I was just fourteen at the time, and she gave me my crossbow. Told me she’d heard of me. She wanted to improve my efficiency, she said.”

He had a wistful sort of expression on his face, as though he missed times long past. He drummed his fingers on the table, and looked lovingly at Glimmer. Glimmer responded by nestling her head against his shoulder. Frosta examined them curiously.

“She-Ra,” Mermista muttered in disbelief, looking at Adora. Adora took a little extra food, an apple.

On her first colossal bite, she nearly choked. Coughing, she finally coughed out a seed. Supposing that had likely been it, Adora spat out the rest of the seeds. What an unfortunate end it would have been, had the mighty She-Ra, Princess of Power, choked to death on an apple seed. Honestly, that would be anticlimactic.

“So, we have nothing to worry about?” Adora asked. “After all, if Lord Hordak—”

“Not so simple,” Mermista said.

Adora sighed. She was the most powerful person in a room full of Princesses. It would be rather nice if they weren’t constantly _interrupting_ her. Still, she finished her apple, and crushed the remains in her hand, leaving a wet mess on her plate.

“Here’s the problem,” Bow said. “Lord Hordak has plans to send a new envoy. We received word of it from our scouts this morning. This new envoy will be accompanied by Force Captain Scorpia.”

Adora’s gaze narrowed. She clenched her fist and teeth alike. If she were right, then they would indeed be in a tougher fight than they had been before. Everyone else looked between each other awkwardly. They didn’t know who it was, and so they only saw their savior’s growing anger. Her very blood boiled at the thought of Catra, promoted in her stead, talking Entrapta into joining the Horde. How would she play it? The role of a tragic refugee? Or would she tell her Lord Hordak was the hero? Adora slammed a fist on the table.

“So, Catra is his play,” she said.

Bow nodded.

“Who’s Catra?” Netossa asked.

“New player,” Glimmer said. “Clever. Determined. Smug, though, awfully smug. Overconfident. Has something to prove, I bet.”

“So, that’s what we’re dealing with?” Netossa asked, crossing her arms. “We’re dealing with some hotshot kid?”

“Not just any hotshot,” Bow said. “Thanks to Adora, I’ve managed to cobble together a few files on her. Catra of the Fright Zone is dangerous. She’s manipulative. She’s clever and tricky. Perfuma, you’ve had experience with her?”

Perfuma nodded. Slowly, she made motions with her hands that Adora didn’t understand. Her brow was furrowed, her expression a cross between somber and enraged. Bow raised an eyebrow, and nodded.

“ESL,” Bow said, looking to Adora.

“What did she say?” Adora asked.

Netossa looked to Adora. “She said she was a major pain.”

Adora had to agree, that definitely sounded like Catra.

“More than that, though,” Bow said. “She affirmed our assessment. Catra is dangerous. We’re taking on a serious proposal if we’re going to oppose her on the field of diplomacy, probably more than we are on the field of battle. Adora, inform us.”

“Wait,” Netossa said. “Adora’s former Horde, right?”

“Yeah,” Adora said.

“Think of the intel you can give us. Sure, you’re She-Ra, and that’s great and all, but you can give us specs, numbers, tactics.”

Adora shrugged. “Actually, I defected a couple days before my promotion. All I can tell you is that in the Horde, you work as a team. We’ve only got one Princess, and Scorpia’s got no runestone connection. They make up for that with practicality and teamwork. Their numbers are less than ours, but I’d say every one of their combat robots is worth five of our geodites.”

“So we just bowl over them with even more,” Mermista said. “I can flood them, Frosta can freeze them, we rule the seas so they have no route, Perfuma can control plant life, Netossa is Netossa, Spinnerella spins really well. We’ve got them outmatched.”

“Oh, we would,” Bow said. “By all analysis, we would. Except we don’t. For some inexplicable reason, the Etherian Horde is hanging in.”

Resolve. Adora knew exactly how they stayed in their position. The Horde was a place of resolve; no matter what came for them, they could always stand against the enemy. Dozens of times had she watched Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio ally together. The Horde was pure pragmatism and courage, and as long as they could stand against the Hegemony, they would. Honestly, though, she wasn’t sure whether it was because they cared about the cause or because it was all they had ever known.

Looking across the table of Princesses, she wondered if they’d known anything else themselves. Had they been raised to hate the Horde by decades of propaganda? It couldn’t have helped that they were told every second of every day that they were heroes, superior to other Etherians, worthy of standing against the Horde. If every robot were five geodites, every Princess was a hundred robots. How _had_ the Horde avoided its fall?

“That all changes the moment Entrapta joins a side,” Bow said. “With her tech, we could utterly annihilate the Horde’s shield within a day. With the Colossi on our side, we could crush Hordak’s throne room.”

“So why is it such a big deal?” Frosta asked. “If this Catra girl is so good at manipulation, we just cut her off on the way and ensure she doesn’t meet with Entrapta.”

“The second Entrapta gets word that Catra got cut off, she’ll know that there was a problem,” Netossa countered. “If there’s a problem, we’ll have cheated in the negotiations. She’ll join the Horde without a second thought. Entrapta’s still split on who the good guys are.”

“So, capturing Catra is out of the question,” Mermista said. “We can’t out-talk her, so we’ve gotta get something that appeals to Entrapta.”

“Tech,” Bow said. “Issue is, the Horde had an advantage when it comes to that too. They’ve got much more they can offer.”

“What about First Ones tech?” Adora asked. “We’ve gotta have plenty of that.”

“Oh, we’d love to trade that,” Glimmer said. “Issue is, Angella won’t stand for it. Doesn’t like when we give ‘divine’ artifacts away.”

“Your mom won’t let you give away her stuff?” Adora asked.

Glimmer shot her a glare icier than anything Frosta could ever produce. With great immediacy, the newcomer dropped the line of conversation. She had to be amicable with the heir, lest the coup fall apart before it even began.

“Sorry,” Adora said.

“It’s alright,” Glimmer said.

“So, let’s weigh our options,” Netossa said.

“We’ve got the disadvantage on tech, we’ve got the disadvantage in previous relations, we’ve got no chance at military conquest, and the Horde is sending someone better at diplomacy,” Mermista said. “For once, they’ve actually got one over on us. We have no advantages or options.”

“Except one,” Adora said. “You have me.”

Bow gave her a smile as she stood. Adora began to circle the table, examining the Princesses’ responses. They were all haughty, arrogant, all except the ever-curious Netossa and her gentle wife Spinnerella. Glimmer especially seemed to be barely containing a hatred toward her. Adora supposed that was simply how things were between them so far. She was She-Ra, yet they didn’t bow, they didn’t worship her. There was no devotion or reverence among them. Eventually, Adora supposed there would be.

Finally, she spoke.

“Entrapta loves First Ones tech. Who wouldn’t? It’s cool. They have a good way of infusing magic with technology. The epitome of that, the greatest example. _By the power of Miro_.”

In a flash of light, she was in some starlit abyss, circled by crimson waves. Her clothing changed, golden boots growing over her legs. She grew painlessly, as though her body operated itself. For a moment, she looked at the back of another being. In a silver robe and a blue hood, they stood, facing away from She-Ra as she transformed. Realizing that another being was within the abyss, they turned around. White pinpricks were the only thing she saw behind their blue hood. They clasped their hands.

Adora’s clothing changed to a flowing, elegant robe of blue and gold. Her eyes became a sharp gold, and in her hand formed the Sword of Power. The being clenched their fist, looking at Adora. Adora’s hair grew out beautifully, a resplendent gold behind her head as the Sword of Power sparked with the same crimson waves she had seen in the abyss.

A skeletal hand reached out for the weapon, but that was the end of it. The sound of soaring operatics closed out her vision, and she was in the council hall, holding the Sword of Power. The Princesses looked at her in awe, all except Glimmer and Bow. Sea Hawk’s eyes seemed to sparkle as he gazed upon her, and Mermista’s own awed expression was interrupted by the daggers in her eyes when she looked at him.

“This sword, the Sword of Power, is the most powerful piece of technology the First Ones ever made. Entrapta’s gonna be interested. She’s gonna join us, and we’re going to be the most faithful allies she’s ever had. Nothing like the Horde. We won’t need to seduce her with honeyed words or lies; we just offer her what she wants.”

Bow smiled and nodded. The others applauded Adora’s transformation. There was something special in the way each clapped; Glimmer was slow, sarcastic, her face dismayed. Mermista was quick and curt, yet Frosta’s hands could not hide the excitement the child had, clapping at a rapid and random pace. Netossa and Spinnerella clapped respectfully, at a perfect and even pace, and at last Perfuma clapped quietly and without a set rhythm.

“I like this plan,” Bow said. “It’s a good plan.”

“Give her the word,” Adora said. “Tomorrow, she’ll be met by envoys from the Horde and the Hegemony. Her envoy from here will be the She-Ra.”

“She will bow,” Glimmer said. “They all do, in the end.”

Bow stood up and slammed the table. “ _This_ is what we need!” he exclaimed joyously. “It’s not just that she’s She-Ra. That’s a perk. No, we needed this sort of lateral thinking. For too long, the Hegemony, we in particular, have done things with an eye toward overwhelming and defeating. It’s time that we remembered the world is not our enemy. An extended hand can be just as good as a closed fist.”

“Yeah,” Mermista said.

“Praise be to She-Ra!” Sea Hawk exclaimed, making an extravagant gesture.

“Yeah,” Glimmer said. “Praise be.”

The meeting ended on cordial terms. As she walked out, she saw Bow and Glimmer wander off to the Princess’s quarters, Glimmer’s right hand on Bow’s hip and his left lovingly caressing her face. Netossa and Spinnerella held hands as they wandered down the corridor. Frosta left alone, her fists clenched and her eyes glued to the floor. Perfuma was silent and ethereal in nature, moving away like a ghost.

So, that left Adora alone, and with a rumbling in her stomach. She abandoned the form of She-Ra, reverting in height before wandering away, the weapon now a bracer on her arm. Wandering around the halls, she found a map which directed her to the nearest kitchen. Once she had made it, she saw Da’el, singing, juggling ceramic frying pans pans as though performing an act.

“Ah!” Da’el exclaimed, bowing before them, flawlessly catching every pan, four on each palm. “She-Ra!” they said, laying the pans out across multiple ovens. “I am at your service, my Empress,” they said.

“Calm down,” Adora said. “I’m not the Empress, I’m just hungry.”

“Ah. Hungry. A little disappointing, but we all have our vices. Take your pick of what you want.”

“You make all the food here?” Adora asked.

“Well, no. Specially-made geodites help me. Made of rock salt, for the most part.”

Just then, a geodite wandered by. Da’el struck their form with a pan, and salt fell into it. They placed it back on the oven, and the geodite began to manage other meals, backed quickly by other geodites. “I’m just _head_ chef,” Da’el said. “Not _sole_ chef.”

“I’d go for, uh…”

So many options. So much she could ask for. What did she want from this, from this veritable wonderland of new foods, new sensations which could glance across her tongue? There were meats, vegetables, fruit, everything she had never experienced back in the Horde. Everything she never could have experienced. This was liberating, in a way, to find herself in the Hegemony, where people loved her, where they would serve her food at her whim, food from all places in the world.

“Just give me some ice cream,” she said.

Undeniably, ration bars had their purpose. They gave just enough nutrients to live, but just enough wasn’t what she needed anymore. Now, she could have anything. Maybe it was becoming She-Ra, or maybe it was just the opportunity, but Adora wanted to try everything in this kitchen someday. Maybe she wouldn’t like some of the food, but it didn’t matter; for once, if she didn’t like the food, she could throw it away. She could _choose_ what she wanted to eat.

Da’el raced to the freezer and back. “Cone or bowl?” they asked. “Chocolate or vanilla? Strawberry, perhaps? Mint? We have everything.”

After eating five entire cones of chocolate-vanilla swirl, Adora finally began to feel her brain go cold. For a few minutes, she was discombobulated, confused and erratic, stumbling around the kitchen. She raised a finger, but fortunately did not puke. She supposed maybe that was a bit much for a taste test. Still, she could check that off the list. She definitely liked vanilla ice cream.

Da’el helped her out into the hallway. They sat down next to her, and they began to talk. Da’el left the geodites to assume cooking duty, noting that due to their lack of sapience and independent thought, they were borderline perfect. The two chatted, and at last the topic came to Adora herself.

“So, what’s Lord Hordak like?” Da’el asked. “Just curious.”

“Mean,” Adora said. “Kind of the worst. Pragmatic, though. Keeps to himself. He’s smart.”

Why now did they take curiosity in secrets of the Horde?

“Tell me, Adora, did they have gossip in the Horde?”

“Gossip? Nothing to really gossip about. We shared pretty much everything. I mean, the Horde basically had communal showers, we slept in the barracks, no classy chambers. We all had our secrets, but there wasn’t much gossip between us.”

“Oh, come _on_ , there has to have been some stuff.”

“Well, okay. We all knew Kyle was in love with Rogelio, but what not everyone knew was something Catra overheard, which is that Lonnie was in love with Kyle too.”

“Love triangle, a personal favorite,” Da’el said. “Tad cliché, I must admit.”

“No, see, that’s the fun thing,” Adora said. “It turns out they resolved it a couple months ago. It turns out, get this, _they all got together_. Kyle, Lonnie, Rogelio, in a relationship. Shadow Weaver would flip if she found out.”

“Oh, my,” Da’el said dryly. “Now that is rather extraordinary. And this Shadow Weaver?”

“Yeah,” Adora said quietly. “Shadow Weaver.”

“Who are they?” Da’el asked. “Nobody ever tells me.”

“Shadow Weaver is the second-in-command of the Horde. Lord Hordak’s personal sorcerer and aide. To me, though, to me she’s something else. Shadow Weaver is the closest thing I ever had to a mother.”

“Was she a good one?” Da’el asked, their theatrical facade fading. They took Adora’s hand.

“No,” Adora said. “She was the worst. Catra wouldn’t believe it, but it was hard. I didn’t get friends, allies, a team. Shadow Weaver pushed and pushed and pushed, and she had so much faith that she knew I could never live up to. Shadow Weaver had high hopes for me, and she was more than disappointed anytime I didn’t meet them. She was never as bad to me as she was to Catra, but I held back to protect Catra. If Shadow Weaver saw what I could do, there’d be no need for Catra, and I wouldn’t see her anymore.”

“Hold up,” Da’el said. “Who is this Catra?”

“My oldest friend,” Adora said. “Shadow Weaver raised her too. Catra is sad. She’s toxic. She hurts people and ruins them. She learned from Shadow Weaver, learned too well. Shadow Weaver wanted me to pick up her skill with magic, but the only successor she actually got was Catra. Catra didn’t pick up her power. She picked up her personality.”

“How do you feel about Catra?”

Adora chuckled mirthlessly. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I hate her. I hate her, but she’s not so bad. I had to hold back all my life to help her. She’s treacherous and awful and evil, but I can’t stand the idea of her being hurt. What I want is for her to come for me, but I know she could never do that. We’re codependent.”

“Yeah,” Da’el said. “That’s depressing! Wanna hear some Princess gossip?”

“Why are you doing this?” Adora asked.

Da’el quieted down. “Why would you ask that?”

“I’m She-Ra, that’s it, that’s why.”

Da’el shrugged. “I don’t give a damn about She-Ra, honestly. I just wanted to put on a show for the council, make them all jealous. I never give them that kind of special introduction.”

“So you just care about me?” Adora asked.

“Look, Adora, you don’t have that many friends. I want to be your first. Well, maybe second. Bow gets around.”

“Is that part of the gossip?” Adora asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, not a chance,” Da’el said. “Say what you will of that young man, but he is in love with Glimmer. They are a pair. I can see why Angella picked him as consort.”

“Does Angella talk to you?” Adora asked.

“Oh, no,” Da’el responded. “The Empress couldn’t be bothered to talk to a simple head chef. Didn’t stop her from hiring me, but she’s got work all the time. Madly invested, that woman.”

“What about Micah?” Adora asked.

“Oh,” Da’el said. “Now that’s not a story she’d want me telling. Of course, I do know all the details, and for all she claims omnipotence, she can’t hear us. The rumors are rather grim, though.”

“I love grim,” Adora lied.

“Well, official record has him disappearing during an artillery strike. That’s true. What isn’t on official record is that Angella goes to her balcony sometimes, and she can be spotted with a holographic projector, talking to a man in a blue cloak. The servants, on the rare occasion they spot him, say he’s probably her boss”

“Spooky,” Adora said.

“Yeah,” Da’el said. “Spooky indeed.”

“So how’s that tie in to Micah?”

“Micah disappeared. Nobody found the body. The artillery could’ve gotten him, but he was a powerful mage. No, the only thing _I_ think could’ve killed him is a more powerful magic user. And the artillery gives a perfect cover to atomize a man.”

“Morbid, you think Angella put him down?”

“It’d make sense. Morale was going down at the time. Lot of people were starting to see the problem with supporting two bad factions against one another. The king dies to one faction, well, you’ve got a ‘good guy.’ A brilliant plan.”

“You say ‘good guy’ like it’s a lie.”

“Adora. ‘Good guy’ is a lie. There are no good guys. Let me give you a tip, Adora; nobody really wants to be anybody’s friend.”

“Except you?” Adora asked skeptically.

“Adora, I’m a different sort of person. Besides, I honestly do benefit from this; so few people come visit me and talk about things. I just want a friendly ear, a nice pair of eyes.”

Adora supposed that was fair enough.

In the Horde, she had never gotten options. No option for variation in food, no friends to talk to, no gossip and kindness extended to her. Now, Adora was sitting around, talking about the goings-on, the interpersonal affairs, of others.

Then she recalled the hooded figure in her dream. Surely, it could not have been that Angella spoke to them? She shook her head. No, she decided, it was impossible.

“Other interesting things?” Adora asked.

“Oh, I know all the things. Nobody pays attention to the head chef, even when they hear everything they’re saying. It’s a comfy position.”

“Hit me,” Adora said.

Da’el smirked. “Mermista’s little aide, Sea Hawk? He was an orphan scheduled for a life in the mines for arson, but then she picked him up. According to all evidence, she pushes him away to keep eyes away from a potential relationship between the two, which would be unseemly.”

“Scandalous,” Adora said, the thought of Angella murdering her own husband still on her mind.

“Bow is the one who taught Perfuma ESL. He did it as a favor. In fact, he’s got a favor from every Princess across the kingdoms. Perfuma owes him for teaching her sign language when she lost her voice. Glimmer owes him for obvious reasons. Mermista’s uncle, treacherous fellow, Bow got him put in the mines before he could make a move for her throne. Netossa and Spinnerella owe him for convincing the Empress not to annex their kingdoms. Frosta owes him because he saved her people from an ice dragon. The reality is that everyone in the Hegemony owes Bow. He’s a real hero, even if he doesn’t seem like it.”

“Does Angella owe him?” Adora asked.

“What _doesn’t_ the Empress owe him?” Da’el said with an extravagant hand motion. “Bow invents half the kingdom’s tech. He advises her on strategic matters, keeps her head in the game. He’s almost too straight-laced when you put them in a room together. I suspect he serves as her right hand, even if he makes it seem otherwise.”

Adora clenched her fist. Even Bow had lied to her; that was to be expected, of course. Just like the Horde, the Hegemony was a domain of treachery and lies. Adora had presumed she could trust Bow to some extent, but it seemed otherwise. Da’el seemed to notice her motions, and nodded. They tapped her shoulder gently.

“You’ll learn, Adora. You seem smart.”

Smart. Adora had never really associated herself with being smart before. Now, she heard the word and realized that being smart, being treacherous and clever, it wasn’t some asset which could technically bring one victory. In the Hegemony, being smart, even if it was in your own, odd manner, was a requirement.

“Thank you for your time, Da’el,” Adora said.

“Anytime,” the head chef responded. “You get going now.”

The corridors themselves lied. She could hear Bow and Glimmer, whispering within their room. She realized that even here, she could never have friends. She could only have the one thing beyond friends or allies, and that was power. Why did this happen to her, Adora of all people? Why was she cursed with incredible magic prowess?

It seemed a blessing to Catra, but Adora knew every second of every day that Shadow Weaver didn’t care. If she saw the sorcerer now, she would be able to give her justice in a moment. Still, intrusive visions dug into her mind like daggers, the blade which was her only way into this place projecting thoughts of ending lives. If she gave it up, she would have no role in the Hegemony or the Horde. Lord Hordak was punishing to traitors, and the Hegemony had no use for her when she wasn’t She-Ra.

_Adora_ had no use for herself when she wasn’t She-Ra. It seemed she’d traverse these lying halls with gruesome images still in her mind, reflected in her golden eyes. Clenching her fists, knowing she had no allies, Adora pressed on into an oblivion of tapestries and golden walls.

**~Hegemony~**

The meeting was somewhat awkward, to say the least. Catra was seated at a circular table. Scorpia was opposite her, looking around apprehensively. Shadow Weaver sat on another seat, and Lord Hordak looked grimly from the one most to the left. His fists were clenched, and Catra for a moment recalled the way he had aimed his open palm at her, a red light upon it which could end her life.

There were two empty metal chairs. Upon them were the names “Grizzlor” and “Octavia.” Grizzlor, Catra didn’t know, but she remembered the day Lord Hordak had announced that Princess Mermista had taken Octavia into custody, along with their entire fleet. Octavia had attempted to raid a coastal village to get desperately-needed supplies. In response, according to footage of the battle taken from Octavia’s communications tech, Princess Mermista had casually flooded the entire village. Hours of property destruction. Fortunately for the villagers and Horde soldiers alike, there would be plenty of food in the mines.

Catra nearly slammed the desk at the notion of such ruthless callousness, but she quickly remembered she was no better. Lord Hordak breathed in sharply.

“Shadow Weaver, Force Commander. How fare the troops?”

“We have ninety tanks remaining, four hundred basic combat robots. Horde soldiers are running out of armor, as we are using all our material to make more robots.”

“Why?” Catra asked. “Robots aren’t nearly as effective as soldiers.”

“You impudent little--” Shadow Weaver exclaimed, only to be silenced by Lord Hordak.

“I appreciate Force Captain Catra’s input. If I did not, I would not have promoted her. You ask a good question, Force Captain. The answer is simple: Soldiers are in very short supply. We are running out of them, and soon enough we will run out of them entirely. Best to create more robots and tanks, which will serve as a front line, not to mention that they are cheap.”

Shadow Weaver glared at Catra.

“Catra has a special mission, does she not? You have informed her, of course.”

Shadow Weaver nodded. Catra knew her job quite well. She was to go to Dryl via transport, accompanied by Scorpia, and to enter the mountain home of Princess Entrapta. She would negotiate Entrapta into lending her aid to the Horde.

The problem was that they were so damn secretive about it! Lord Hordak was closed off, and Shadow Weaver would do anything if it inconvenienced Catra. She hadn’t exactly forgotten the underfueled bike she’d given herself and Lonnie, an error which had ultimately cost the life of Huntara. Neither would tell him anything about Entrapta; she didn’t ask for anything absurd, she just wanted advice.

“Good,” Lord Hordak said.

“I need more information,” Catra said.

Lord Hordak looked at her, and then at Shadow Weaver. “You will receive it,” he said, his voice sharp and tense.

Shadow Weaver rose from her seat. “You must be kidding. The brat betrayed her comrades--”

“Shadow Weaver, you of all people would know the value of ambition,” Hordak said. “Not to mention its dangers.”

“I disapprove of your decision.”

“Your input is acknowledged, Shadow Weaver.”

There was something between the two. Catra could feel it. The way they glared at one another, the way they stared and spoke. Something simmered, something which dashed across the circular table. Scorpia, as was made evident by the way she awkwardly crossed her hands, felt it too. If Catra had to guess, the two had either increased in the volume of their hatred, or they’d very recently had sex. Or both.

Lord Hordak gritted his teeth. “How fares morale?” he asked.

“Good!” Scorpia said. “The troops, I mean, the brave soldiers, I mean, look, everyone’s really happy about the new food supply, and I bet they’ll be happier once we’ve got Entrapta back. I miss her, you know. It’ll be nice to see her again.”

“This is not a friendly visit,” Shadow Weaver said. “She is nothing more than an asset to us. Were it possible, we would capture that blemish of a Princess and take her technology.”

Lord Hordak looked to her, eyes narrowing. “Shadow Weaver,” he growled.

“What?” Shadow Weaver asked. “It is true.”

This was a test. Catra was quite familiar with Shadow Weaver’s methods, and this was a test. It was akin to stretching a rubber band; she wanted to see how bad she could push Hordak before he would go from snapping back to breaking. It was interesting, but Catra didn’t want to see the end result that badly.

“Morale is good?” Lord Hordak asked, clasping his hands over his mouth.

“Yeah,” Scorpia said.

“Good. Then I believe you, Force Captain Scorpia, are dismissed. As long as our foundries keep crafting robots, and our troops stay healthy and brave, we are going to be fine.”

“Shall we dismiss the brat as well?” Shadow Weaver asked.

Lord Hordak looked at her. “Are you _insane_?” he asked as politely as he could.

Shadow Weaver was toying with him now. Playing with fire, Catra would say, except through an analysis, she had never actually seen Lord Hordak fight. Shadow Weaver was one of the most powerful sorcerers in Etheria. What made it so that Lord Hordak could take her on in a proper showdown? She shook her head. She didn’t want to get into one of those barracks debates about who could win in a fight, considering the answer was almost always Shadow Weaver or Scorpia, but she was unsure what exactly Lord Hordak could do.

“Perhaps I am,” Shadow Weaver said. “Perhaps, however, I am merely suggesting that we solve the problem in the least intrusive way possible.”

“By sending _you_?” Lord Hordak asked.

“I was going to suggest we demote Catra and promote Lonnie in her place.”

“Catra has gotten results. Mixed results, but I have little doubt in her guile. It says here that she earned top marks in every exercise she participated in.”

“Of course,” Shadow Weaver said, as Catra realized they were fighting about her while she was right there. “Of course Catra gets top marks. She steals from her fellow cadets, betrays and cheats.”

“Not unlike yourself,” Lord Hordak said. “I will not forget that the runestone you wield is that of Force Captain Scorpia. You surely wouldn’t mind if I transferred control back to her, correct?”

Shadow Weaver grumbled.

“As I assumed, Shadow Weaver. You are dismissed. I will ask you to touch base with me once I am finished talking to the Force Captain. Rest assured, however, that if you keep on the path you are on, _she_ will be my second-in-command, and not you.”

Shadow Weaver left silently, gliding away, her fists clenched. She muttered to herself as she reached the door, and Catra was alone with Lord Hordak again. He looked at her, and gave her an interesting, analytical look. From the pipes above came the flapping of a dozen bat-like wings, and then upon Hordak’s left shoulder landed Imp, green and cherubic as ever.

“You mean that?” Catra asked.

“Perhaps,” Lord Hordak said, gently patting Imp’s head, much to the small creature’s vocal approval. “Anyone could become a Force Commander with enough time and effort. Shadow Weaver’s loyalty to me wavers. She recognizes my state, as I am sure you do now. I am not what I once was.”

Catra took a look at him.

“You’re tired,” she said, her analysis complete in two seconds at most. “Your hair, it’s grown out a little bit. You’re thinner, like you haven’t eaten, but it’s not just that. Your scars are worse.”

Lord Hordak nodded solemnly. “I assumed you would recognize my decaying condition. I will be truthful with you, Force Captain. I project the image of a fearsome conqueror, but that is all it is. An image. Entrapta could help me reclaim the power I once wielded.”

“What do I need to know?” Catra asked.

“Entrapta and I have a lengthy tale. She defended me when I came to Dryl for sanctuary after a battle. Hosted for our troops, honored us like houseguests.”

Lord Hordak turned away, patting Imp again, and then sending him off to do more espionage work.

“She is brilliant,” he said. “She has my technical mind, but with ten times the creativity. To me, technology is a mere necessity; to her, technology is an art! She opened my eyes to the greatest thing we could have done. We could reverse-engineer the First Ones’ technology, and turn it against them.”

“That’s not it,” Catra said. “There’s more.”

“This is the unfortunate part. I used her technology in my war effort, but we spent time together. Then, one day, I discovered that her serving staff had been captured and sent to the mines by the Hegemony. I sought to save them, to free everyone within the mine, to find the truth of Angella’s secret project. In that time, Entrapta and I studied multiverse theory. We believed the two connected. When the battle began, Entrapta gave me one demand. She told me that her technology was not to be used for death. I agreed to her terms.”

“Let me guess. You didn’t stick to them.”

“Oh, we won the battle fairly and without casualties. We flanked and outmaneuvered them, freed the miners, her staff included, and evacuated them to freedom. Some even joined our forces as thanks. We destroyed hundreds of geodites, but then Force Captain Grizzlor made an error. He challenged the Empress fair and square, a blade in his hand.”

“Yeah. So that didn’t go so well for him.”

“He died quickly. That was the sole mercy he was granted. In response, I ordered an artillery strike. Non-lethal, I thought. Concussive artillery. I was wrong. It killed King Micah, or something did. Either way, I attempted to explain. Entrapta was not having it. I thanked her for her aid, and stated if she so desired, she could leave, but it only seemed to enrage her more. The last thing she did was call me a murderer. She was not incorrect.”

“You’re a soldier. You did your job.”

“I have had plenty of time to think since then,” Lord Hordak said, turning around and opening a holographic display. “I will not deny the accusation of murder, nor do I have any pretensions that I am _not_ a murderer.”

“You want her back.”

“I require her aid.”

Catra looked at him.

“Not just that,” she said. “You want _her_ back.”

Lord Hordak smiled slightly.

“I knew your skill equaled that of Shadow Weaver. Hopefully, you do not insult the Princess as she did.”

“So, what do I tell her?”

“Make no mention of me. She loathes me. Explain to her the cause. Explain to her the benefits of being our ally. Tell her it is an opportunity for advancement.”

“If that doesn’t work?”

Lord Hordak enlarged the holographic display. Catra’s eyes widened as she saw Princess Entrapta. She had expected something different, but what she saw was a woman with magenta twintails, working tirelessly on a four-legged robot. Lord Hordak looked solemnly at it, and reached out a hand. The hand passed through the blue, glowing display, which fizzled. It was as though he reached out for her, although she was merely a video recording.

“Then this is how I shall remember her,” he said. “Beautiful, working tirelessly as always. She named the robot ‘Emily.’ She gave the machine a name, even added an advanced programming algorithm, giving it the intelligence and sapience of a dog. She improved our efficiency tenfold, but more than that, she was… her.”

“You love her,” Catra said.

“ _Loved_ ,” Lord Hordak said harshly, dispelling the hologram. “If you cannot recruit her, my failure is likely.”

“You’re weak,” Catra said, looking at her claws. “If I wanted to, I could kill you right now, couldn’t I?”

Lord Hordak chuckled. “Oh, no. I’m not that weak, Force Captain.”

“You fell in love with Entrapta, huh?” Catra asked.

“I cannot deny it,” Hordak murmured. “I was told not to find love where I came from. I was told not to indulge baser instincts, but she wanted me and I in turn desired to feel her warmth. We spent a month together, a month greater than any other. She loved me, and I foolishly thought I would receive that love forever. Eventually, it was over. She left, and she had every right to.”

She left, and she had every right to.

Catra sighed.

“So, that’s the deal. You two were lovebirds?”

“There is more you must know. I must disclose it, as she knows and may disclose it herself. Best that you already know.”

A new hologram. This one was projected in striking red and green. Standing before Catra was Lord Hordak, a white uniform on his form, a black and red cape marking it as him, planting a flag on the citadel of a city as thousands of identical men in similar white uniforms, all carrying blasters, charged forth.

“I am a clone,” Lord Hordak said. “I was the greatest general in the armada of the universe’s rightful Emperor, Horde Prime. Well, I thought his rule rightful at the time. Now, I question it.”

“You’re what?” Catra asked.

“I am a clone. I invaded worlds for Prime. He sent me here through a dimensional rift, with a task. He told me I had a very special task. That I was to be the savior of our people if I took Etheria and returned to him. Entrapta and I came to the conclusion that Etheria is trapped in a pocket dimension of sorts, known as ‘Despondos.’ I didn’t know where to go, so I betrayed my first allies and began my empire.”

“Wow,” Catra said. “That’s grim.”

“I am a heretic. Prime would disapprove of my actions, but I have allowed myself to find penance.”

Catra slammed the table. Lord Hordak turned to her, slightly alarmed yet not showing it. At last, she came to a conclusion.

“So that’s it?” she asked. “I thought you were Etheria’s strongest conqueror, its most brilliant warlord! But in the end, you’re just some zealot seeking the approval of a cult leader? Can’t say I’m not disappointed. Honestly, between those motives of yours, you’ve got what? A bad upbringing? Unrequited love? Because, oh, boy, I’m right there with you.”

“I advise against insulting Prime. He hears all, and sees all.”

“Then why hasn’t he come back for you?”

Lord Hordak was silent for a moment. Then, he spoke quietly. “Because I am a failure, and he knows it.”

“And why won’t Entrapta come back for you?”

“Because I am a murderer, and she knows that as well. I am not effective enough in what I am to return to Prime. I am not moral enough for Entrapta. I suppose I am doomed to solitude.”

“Knock it off!” Catra exclaimed.

“Knock it off?” Lord Hordak asked.

“You’re a neurotic mess behind all that makeup and that power. All you want is to be with someone you love, all you want is love.”

That was the epiphany at the end of it. She couldn’t decide if it was pathetic or beautiful. Lord Hordak, conqueror of Etheria, the man who had held out for decades against a much longer force, was just a cultist, who had committed all his deeds in the name of love.

“You won’t let yourself have it,” she said.

“Then what of you?” Lord Hordak asked. “Is it not Adora that you want?”

It was Catra’s turn to go silent.

“I am not a fool, Force Captain. I do my homework. You had a bond with one of your fellow cadets. Adora. Shadow Weaver’s other apprentice. You felt safe with her, even as you made grave errors. She defended you. You became dependent on her, yet you drove her away. Not due to pride. No. You believed, deep down, that you did not deserve her, yet you are torn, ten times more than I am. I have resigned myself to failure in each of my pursuits, yet forge on in spite of that. You have nearly given up after losing the person you loved.”

Catra stuttered. Lord Hordak looked to her, and then chuckled. It was not a cruel chuckle. It was a warm one, an understanding one.

“That really is us,” Catra said, smiling. “I was defective to Shadow Weaver because I didn’t have magic. You were defective to your boss for whatever reason. I love Adora, so I drove her away. You love Entrapta, so you won’t even talk to her.”

“We are self-destructive, foolish people,” Lord Hordak said. “Fortunately, in recognizing that, we can move beyond it. Thank you, Force Captain. You were not underhanded. You were quick. Brutal. You illuminated a few simple truths to me. In turn, I shall illuminate the last of the truths I know about your meeting. We have a problem, to say the least.”

Lord Hordak opened a file on his mechanical arm, which displayed in a bright red tint. It was in some other language. “Sea Elven,” he said. “The Hegemony can’t be bothered with learning it. Ironic, considering the Sea Elves reside in their own territory. It makes it easy to communicate secretly.”

“Good trick,” Catra said.

“This message is from one of my best spies. It says that the Hegemony will be sending She-Ra tomorrow, to negotiate for Entrapta as well. She-Ra is dangerous, but I believe her power is not what we have to worry about.”

“I can handle myself,” Catra said.

“I believe you,” Hordak responded. “We may have an opportunity here,” he said. “We can reacquire Entrapta’s power. I can repair myself.”

“Yeah,” Catra said. “And I can save Adora.”

“From the Hegemony?” Hordak asked. “She joined willingly.”

“No,” Catra said. “From herself.”

“Yes,” Lord Hordak said. “We may yet find success, Force Captain.”

“Good,” she said. “Now, uh, how do I get around Shadow Weaver? I’m pretty sure she’s hanging out right outside your door.”

Hordak shrugged. “You will have to devise a solution to that on your own. Get out.”

By the time Catra was in breathing distance, Shadow Weaver had her by the hair. She turned and hissed, her lifted spirits dragged back down to the floor by the sorcerer’s presence. Shadow Weaver crossed her arms as Catra looked at her.

“You will not take my position,” Shadow Weaver said.

“Listen,” Catra said. “I’m not gonna fight you for it.”

“So you know your place?” Shadow Weaver asked.

“No,” Catra said. “It’s not worth it. Your position will come naturally to me. I don’t need to fight you. It’s not worth it.”

Catra almost had to admit Shadow Weaver was visibly stunned; that was an impressive feat, considering she wore an emotionless mask with only white illusions for eyes. Catra shrugged, exactly as Lord Hordak had, before she felt something cold and harsh wrap around her ankles. She was pinned to the floor by a pair of black tendrils.

“You will not get in my way,” Shadow Weaver said.

“Tell me, do you think Lord Hordak would care if I tore that mask off you right now?” Catra asked. “No. He likes me. I can already tell. He’s never liked you.”

“Do not think you can reduce me to your childish level!” Shadow Weaver exclaimed.

“Oh, please, you’d have to rise above it first,” Catra responded.

Now it was her turn. Unfortunately for Shadow Weaver, she was not a well-made rubber band. She held out a hand to Catra’s face, and Catra responded by staring into her illusory eyes. Shadow Weaver hissed in the manner Catra did, and Catra didn’t even respond.

“That’s the thing, Shadow Weaver. You can go to all this effort to be powerful and strong, but you don’t want power. You want to feel safe. Deep down, you’re a coward. I get it. We can work together. I can let you keep that position of yours. Or, you can keep sabotaging me, and I can take it upon myself to report you to Lord Hordak, if he doesn’t already know.”

Again, the fluttering of batlike wings.

“Hear that? That would be Imp. That little sound, that could be your doom if you let it.”

Shadow Weaver relented, letting Catra pass, growling and cursing under her breath.

“It’s been fun, Shadow Weaver. I’ve gotta take a shower before tomorrow’s meeting, so I’ll get going. By the way?”

Shadow Weaver turned to her as she approached Lord Hordak’s office.

“We want the same thing. Adora. You help me, and we can get her back.”

Shadow Weaver looked at her hands, and then nodded to Catra. The two had an agreement. Catra knew what it would mean. In the end, Adora would come back, but she supposed things would have to change between them. Still, she was on her way.

In the end, Catra would have to gain more power in a different way. Lord Hordak wasn’t going to give it up. He was too much like her.

No, Catra supposed, she would need to find a different route to it. She reminded herself that she was defined not by empathy, but by treachery and by roguish talent. She was a master of the two, and perhaps they could be put to good use. Perhaps.

Lord Hordak was a clone of an alien cult leader. Hell of a thing, Catra supposed, but she hadn’t expected anything else. In the end, for all his grandiose origins, he was just like her. Self-destructive, self-loathing, cloaking himself in a blanket of power and conquering to deny that which he really wanted. Of course, even if he didn’t need to go down, Catra needed to go up. She needed Adora back.

She deserved Adora.

Didn’t she?

Catra wandered to the showers, pondering pointlessly on strange things. Tomorrow, she would speak to Entrapta. That would clear things up, she hoped.

**~Hegemony~**

It was for love that most people did things. For love, they said. For love, they claimed power, and for love they took lives. For love, they did all evils.

Bow wondered if what he did was for love as well, on another of his countless sleepless nights. He ruffled Glimmer’s hair, removing the blanket which covered them both from himself and giving it to Glimmer. Bow wandered into the restroom, looking at the shower of the Princess’s chambers. It was engraved, gold-plated, even the showerhead.

Glimmer. She was such a strange person, in so many ways. Bow turned on the shower. Her chambers were wide, every part of them rich and shining, glamorous beyond belief. Her sink dispensed the freshest water in Etheria. She was heir to an entire empire, which she would never see come to fruition. She would grow to the age Angella did, and the Empress would outlive her. Without the full power, Glimmer would never inherit the Empress’s immortality.

A piece of every runestone. She channeled them all. Glimmer could have that power as well, but Bow wondered if she would even care. Would she know, in the end, that everything he did, he did for love? Everything he did, he did for her.

Maybe love was a pretense. Bow supposed he wouldn’t know until everything was done. With cold water running down on his head, and Glimmer sleeping softly in her queen-sized bed, her partner missing from his place, Bow wondered if she would ever know just how much he wanted to give her a safe world. To give her the world she deserved.

Perhaps he should have become a scholar, like his fathers had wanted.

Yet in spite of not being a scholar or artist, he at times felt like a painter. He was painting on a canvas of war. A single stroke of the brush meant another village displaced, the buildings destroyed and covered in kudzu. Yet when the world was overrun, when the paint at last spilled and Etheria burned, would she know that it burned for love?

Would she know that it burned for her?


	6. Revelations & Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The editor, BumbleCade, made a Tumblr post of absolute quality dealing with how Perfuma (And Imp) communicate in Etherian Sign Language! She's an absolute queen, please read it.
> 
> The post: <https://tea-with-nyarlathotep.tumblr.com/post/639721665897578496/etherian-sign-names-in-hegemony>

Entrapta was in the darkness, toiling away, working on machines. It was the way of things. Always in the dark, always alone, always working on machines.

Emily was at her side, as always. The light to the darkness. As she worked, constantly making adjustments, she recalled what had happened. At such a young age, she had proven a prodigy with technology. The Hegemony had considered her a potential menace; to be as advanced in technological matters as she was, without a permit, at a young age, it was impossible. So her parents were offered a choice. Surrender Entrapta for safety, they said. There were tearful apologies, hesitation, but in the end, Entrapta had been worth less than their safety. If only she could have been rid of her talent.

If she had ceased to alter every appliance, stopped making machines, abandoned her pursuit, they would still be with her. It was her fault they had left. So, she had been abandoned. She had been exiled to Dryl after it was discovered she could not be used to work in a mine due to her young age and lack of attention span. They would not accept her, so they sent her to the mountains, accompanied solely by her childhood friends.

She declared herself a Princess at age fourteen. The people of Etheria loved Princesses, so Entrapta assumed they would love her. They did not. Slowly, her friends drifted away, and became her retainers and serving staff. Entrapta had built robot parents, but she could never program a machine to replicate human intelligence and emotion. There was no machine that could recreate love.

When she was an adult, _he_ had come. He and his associates in the Horde. He had stayed there, and they had loved one another. Then, he broke a promise to her, and despite his protesting, she had thrown him away. She had come to regret that decision; perhaps he had spoken the truth, and deserved another chance. Then, however, she reminded herself that even if he had spoken the truth, he would have come to despise her for tossing him away as Prime did. She remembered the way he had pleaded, tears in his eyes, for her not to leave him. He had told her everything; he said that she was the first person he had been truthful to. Yet she had left nonetheless.

She had told him she would not be party to murder.

On some level, she expected him to contact her again. He never did. Not until now.

It was not what he had done that had bothered her so much. It was how he had responded. He had begged and pleaded, but he had not let slip for a moment that it was a matter of love. No, that would have made him appear weak, and he despised that so much. He had abandoned vulnerability and made it sound like a bargain the entire time. He had told her so often that he valued her creations, that he wanted her aid for the Horde. She couldn’t quite read between the lines, of course.

He was a genius, but she was something he couldn’t quite comprehend. By the time it was over, and Entrapta came to think that perhaps he had meant more than he had said, they were separate, and neither would contact one another. Sparks flew around Entrapta’s lab as she finished her modifications to Emily.

Outside waited the Colossi. Nobody had been permitted here in years. The serving staff had prepared all the tiny food in the world, from miniscule cupcakes to miniature steaks. Entrapta herself had been working for twelve hours to make the fortress presentable.

She activated Emily, and turned around. She lifted her mask above her face, and for the first time in twelve hours, she saw through her own eyes. They were on their way. At noon today, they would come, two of them. “Lord” Hordak himself couldn’t make his way there, it seemed. Of course not. She had a gift prepared for him, but he would receive it nonetheless.

Today was the day.

**~Hegemony~**

“So, what do you know about Entrapta?” Scorpia asked, sitting across a speeder platform from Catra.

“I know she’s smart,” Catra said. “Know some secrets about her and Lord Hordak.”

“Ah, need-to-know stuff, I bet. Lord Hordak sure is grumpy and secretive.”

“There’s a bit more to him than you might think.”

“I mean, I don’t know anything about him, so I’d assume there is.”

Catra supposed that was fair enough. After all, he didn’t share his secrets with just anyone. He had only given them to her out of necessity, as he had worried Entrapta might expose his true nature. Even then, Catra suspected he hadn’t been supplying her with everything.

“What do _you_ know about Entrapta?” Catra asked.

“Oh, I know a lot,” Scorpia said. “She’s my friend. Well, she was, at any rate. She’s nice, but weird. Definitely nice, though. She can be a little naive, but she’s the best. Even Lord Hordak trusted her.”

Catra clenched her fist. Of course he did. She already knew that, but to some extent it hurt her to know. Even _Lord Hordak_ was kinder to the people he cared about than Catra was. She knew all she had to say to Adora to get her to come back. An appeal to her pride. In spite of that, she wouldn’t let it happen.

Adora had never had pride before.

Catra took her mind from thoughts of Adora. Adora was here, but she was a side objective, not the mission. Oh, she would be back around Catra’s finger by the end of it, alright, but she had to placate Lord Hordak’s desire for Entrapta’s alliance first. She gritted her teeth. Adora second, her second, always second.

Second was perhaps the word Catra heard and loathed most in life. She was Shadow Weaver’s second ward, second apprentice. She was the second Force Captain in the current Horde, behind Scorpia. If Shadow Weaver were to drop dead, as Catra often wished she would, Scorpia would be next in line rather than Catra. Her entire life was a whirling recurrence of being trapped behind someone better, her needs always a secondary objective behind anyone else. The only one it had been different with was Adora.

Perhaps Adora had taken pity on her. Catra snarled. Recently, her eyes had been opened to the idea that her obsession with the newly-crowned She-Ra had some romantic qualities in nature. Now, it festered in her mind like a disease; did she love Adora, or did she merely want her friend back? Not to mention the question of whether it could even be called love.

Catra was not blind to her own faults as a person. Among those faults was that she sometimes struggled to recall that Adora had her own feelings, or that others had the right to feelings. Of course, that was the way things had to be; Catra’s only power, the only security she had, was the knowledge that she could play others, take from them, crush them. Eventually, between Shadow Weaver and Lord Hordak, all in charge of the Horde would destroy themselves. Scorpia was in no place to truly take command, and she would step down to give Catra control.

It was all a matter of time.

Still, she needed to keep Lord Hordak pleased. Even if he didn’t lose, he would keep Catra safe. He favored her, and Catra was soothed by that, at least.

What Catra craved, as she could reckon, was control. She wanted others to fear her. All her life, she had spent with control over only one person, that being Adora. Now, she was offered the opportunity to lead armies. Of course she would accept. The world had hurt her, and she was going to ensure it could never hurt her again.

That said, mindless cruelty and betrayal was not the path to victory. This called for a cool head and a kind hand. Catra had realized that some people genuinely did want the best for others. That was good. It made things easier.

“You’re looking forward to seeing Entrapta again?” Catra asked.

“Absolutely,” Scorpia said. “She’s just the best. I’ve missed her so much. I hope she comes back.”

“I doubt that’s gonna happen,” Catra said coldly. She rose to her feet and looked up the rocky mountain path, leaning on the black metal railing on the side of the speeder.

“No?” Scorpia asked. “Why not?”

“It sounds like she and Lord Hordak didn’t exactly split up on happy terms. I was given specific orders to seek only her technological and military help. You’re not gonna see Entrapta heading back to the sanctum anytime soon.”

Scorpia blew her hair out of her face. “That’s not good,” she said. “Entrapta’s a very empathetic person. You ought to play to that.”

“Lord Hordak gave me my orders,” Catra said, looking across the countless rocky mountains. “That said, I’ll keep your suggestion in mind, Force Captain.”

“Please,” Scorpia said. “Just call me Scorpia.”

“Yeah,” Catra said.

Then, she looked up. The fortress of Dryl was not an absurdly elegant place. There was a banner, a massive violet gear upon a gray exterior, but that was all. What was of much more note was the two massive figures which stood at the gate. They were mechanical marvels. Even Catra, not a scientific-minded person, recognized that these were indeed more than simply machines built for defense. They were pieces of art, pure and simple.

Sprayed upon their metal chests were the violet gear emblems which marked them as soldiers of Dryl. Surely, Catra had heard of their height, yet they went beyond that. They outdid the tallest spires in Bright Moon in their sheer enormity. Their eyes glowed a sharp and royal purple, their metal hands open. They could block out the sun itself if they so desired, and they moved, albeit slowly. Their left and right hands, respectively, which barred a massive gate, moved to the side. Catra got a view of the thousands of mechanisms and gears working within, and a momentary flickering indicated that they had energy shields akin to that of Horde soldiers. In between each of their heads was a small, triangular prism, which Catra could only assume was a power crystal. Scorpia gasped in awe upon seeing them. It was more than merely a pair of resplendent robots, for it was the culmination of countless hours of work. They were thought more a legend than true creatures, yet here they stood, alive as machines could be, allowing access to the gates of Dryl, gates many thought would never open again.

“Entrapta must be a hell of a mechanic if she can make these things work,” Catra said.

“Oh, she is,” Scorpia said. “I’ve thought of becoming a mechanic myself, but, y’know, scorpion claws. Entrapta, though, she’s skilled with her hands.”

“Yeah,” Catra said, chuckling slightly. “Bet that’s why Lord Hordak liked her so much.”

“What?” Scorpia asked.

“What?” Catra responded.

“What?” Scorpia asked again.

The two shared an awkward glance, and then the speeder stopped. At last, they stepped off, and approached the gates. The Colossi were even more incredible up close. Merely the bottoms of their feet dwarfed Scorpia. The two Horde members looked like ants in comparison to the beauty of the enormous electronic entities. Catra gasped as she saw the gates open, and then she saw darkness.

At the door, there was a man in a violet coat and a jabot. Well, not a man. He had one wheel for legs, and blank red eyes. In fact, his entire body and face were made of metal. For a mouth, he had a black screen with audio lines across it. They vibrated as he spoke.

“Right this way,” he said. “Princess Entrapta is delighted to have you as her guest-guest-guest-guest-guest-guest-guest-friends.”

“Ooooookay,” Catra said. “Well, let’s get on with this then.”

“Yeah,” Scorpia said. “I’m waiting outside.”

“Wait,” Catra said, suddenly shaking, although Dryl seemed oddly warm for a mountain region. “You’re kidding, Scorpia. You wanna split the party and let me go into the spooky castle alone?”

Scorpia shrugged. “Would it help if I gave you a hug?”

Catra sighed, and supposed it would. “Yeah.”

“Alright, then. C’mere.”

Once Catra had left Scorpia’s arms, she felt warmer and safer than ever before. Say what you would of Scorpia, she gave absolutely fantastic hugs. In fact, the hugs were so nice that Catra almost forgot she was heading directly into a building full of deadly machines to negotiate with a reclusive Princess as well as oppose the only person she had ever cared about.

Well, now she wasn’t gonna forget.

The castle lit up the further she went in, lights all over, yet dim ones. They projected faint red, leaving Catra’s only companion a robotic butler and her own shadow. The gates remained open, and the robot butler guided her to a small, square table. Three living, organic beings were there; there was an elven male with a strange shade of hair, akin to a flower, a woman with bright green hair and a small cupcake in her hands, and a woman wearing a long white coat and a pair of blue goggles, with blue hair, carrying a tray of small bread rolls. The elf picked up a bottle of fizzy drink.

“Soda,” the woman with the green hair said. “Sweets and rolls. Welcoming gifts.”

“Who’re you guys?” Catra asked.

“We’re the Princess’s staff,” the elf said. “I’m Soda Pop. Green hair is Baker. Blue hair is Busgirl.”

“Those are your names?” Catra asked.

“No,” Soda Pop said. “This is what Entrapta calls us. None of us have ever corrected her. You can ask Lurch if you need anything besides food.”

“You guys seem kinda antisocial,” Catra said.

“Quite,” Baker said, walking away.

Soda Pop wandered away as well. Busgirl shrugged, and followed. That left Catra with Lurch, the robot butler, who ironically seemed far more sociable than they did at the moment. She wondered what had happened to make Entrapta’s staff so quiet and reserved, but supposed it was none of her business.

“So, what’s Entrapta like?” she asked Lurch.

“Smart-smart-smart-smart-lonely,” Lurch said.

Lonely, huh? Maybe this would be easier than Catra had assumed. After all, she lived in a spooky castle and was apparently lonely. Some people didn’t quite care for the stakes of the war; their conflicts were more personal, and certainly existent.

“Sh-she-created-me,” Lurch said. “Created-all-of-us-and-we-love-her.”

That was ominous, but Catra had to allow it to go on.

“She-is-generous-and-kind-kind-kind-kind-kind-kind-lonely,” Lurch said.

Then from the darkness emerged two red eyes. Catra instinctively reached to her hip, only to remember that she was unarmed. Hissing, she leapt from the table. Lurch looked backward, and waved pleasantly. Perhaps it was merely another machine?

“Oh, Lurch!” exclaimed a high-pitched, cheery voice. “You need repairs again, buddy?”

Lurch looked at the red eyes. “Go back in the sanctum,” the voice said.

From the darkness emerged a woman who was undeniably the Princess, a welding mask removed from her face. She wore a white tank top with a violet gear painted in the center, a wrench in her hands as she walked on her hair. Without hesitation, she examined Catra as though looking at a curious new specimen, taking particular care to analyze her ears, which twitched as she brushed across them with her hair. Catra looked at her, and Entrapta kept moving on her hair, reaching the table and sitting down. Lurch walked away, appropriately incremental in movement, akin to his name. Entrapta immediately grabbed with her prehensile hair a roll, which she ate with gusto.

Catra only realized she had been eating the cupcake when it was halfway done. It seemed she was easily tempted by food that wasn’t disgusting Horde rations.

“So, we’ve gotta wait for the other negotiator and her bodyguard!”

“She brought a bodyguard?” Catra asked.

“Of course!” Entrapta said. “Imp Two spotted a man with a crossbow on the way over. Bow, I think! Name’s kind of on-the-nose.”

“Wait, Imp two?” Catra asked. “There’s a second Imp?”

“Oh, I name my drones ‘Imp’ after the little friend Hordak had. Has? Does he still have Imp?”

“He still has Imp,” Catra said.

“Oh, good!” Entrapta exclaimed. “I really liked him! Imp, I mean. Imp.”

Suddenly, the Princess grew dour. “Right, so Imp Ten says the other ambassador is out there.”

Sure enough, into the fortress stepped Adora. She flashed Catra a smug smirk, and without a word turned her golden bracer into an elegant golden blade. Entrapta’s eyes almost sparkled in their excitement as they looked at the sword. Catra pressed her hand to her forehead, and shook her head. Adora then reverted the blade to a bracer once more.

She reminded herself to stay calm. Adora was here, yes, but if she flew off the handle, she would be stripped of status, not to mention that she needed to hold a conversation. Adora usually tripped over herself in casual conversation. Catra crossed her arms. She had this handled.

Still, Adora’s eyes were glowing an orange-gold, as though magma in a volcano. As they stared at Catra, she felt herself flaring up. Adora wandered to the table with swaggering confidence, and took a seat.

“Princess Entrapta!” Adora said, taking a roll and eating it. “Nice to see you. I’m Adora of Bright Moon, but you can call me She-Ra.”

“Adora of the Fright Zone,” Catra said. “Let’s not forget your years of service to the Horde.”

“You’re right!” Adora exclaimed. “Let’s not forget how Lord Hordak used me for his violent ends, just like he used you.”

Catra looked on Adora’s left ear, and saw at once an earpiece. She knew that she was being fed information and ideas by Bow. That complicated things quite a bit.

“So,” Princess Entrapta said, polishing off another roll. “How have your days been?”

“Pretty good,” Adora said.

“Fine,” Catra responded.

“Oh, I want details,” Entrapta said.

“Well, I got up late, took a long bath, discussed the meeting with Bow. Did you know they have hot springs in Bright Moon _and_ Mystacor?”

 _Is she giving her a sales pitch?_ Catra wondered.

“It’s a nice place. Utopian, I’d say. Anyways, then Bow and I got here via carriage, using geodite horses. Humane.”

Catra gritted her teeth, yet she held her tongue. A single error would leave Entrapta favoring Adora. She needed to immediately formulate a tactic.

“Good!” Entrapta exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Catra said. “Good.”

“What about you?” the Princess asked.

“Oh, I was fine,” Catra said. “It wasn’t as pleasant for me. Got up early. I hung out in the communal showers, had a talk with my colleague Lonnie. I ate some ration bars and got here as soon as I could. Princess Scorpia accompanied me.”

“Emily’s already entertaining her,” Entrapta said happily. “Maybe she can come in after we’re done?”

Catra’s eyes widened, and then she nodded. Acquiescing to Entrapta was a good strategy if she wanted favor. Besides, if Entrapta was already friends with Force Captain Scorpia, that left them in a good place. Scorpia was no good at negotiation, but it was better than Bow entering and getting to talk.

“For that matter,” Adora said.

Oh, no.

“Oh, yes!” Entrapta exclaimed. “Bow should come in too. I love his work with the semi-automatic crossbow, not to mention his different kinds of bolts! He’s done some fantastic stuff.”

Catra regretted even thinking about Bow. Still, Adora knew her worry, which she expressed through an arrogant smile. Again, it irked Catra, but she had no way to stop Adora.

“So,” Catra said. “If we’re gonna make offers right off the bat, let me lay out what the Fright Zone’s got for you. We have advanced technology, a focus on scientific-minded endeavors, and dedicated support for robot creation. We’ve also got stashes of First Ones and alien tech. Our multicultural troops are also likely to provide aid and interest in scientific pursuits and advances.”

“Right,” Entrapta said. “What do you two know about multiverse theory?”

“Lord Hordak talked about it,” Catra said. “I’m not really sure what it is.”

Adora smirked. Catra realized in a moment exactly what was going on. She had made an error. If Bow was talking into Adora’s ear, she would keep his scientific genius at all times. Catra was on the back foot the moment Adora opened her mouth.

“Multiverse theory is the idea that every single action produces an entirely new timeline, an entirely new universe. It posits that there are perhaps infinite universes.”

Entrapta nodded. “Lord Hordak and I were doing research on multiverse theory when our factions split. We deduced that a massive deviation occurred in our timeline. In almost every other one, something major happened in the ancient past. I posited the idea that it was a war, an intergalactic war. One party won in the past, the other in the present.”

“Intergalactic?” Adora asked. “You mean, like, aliens?”

“Yes,” Entrapta said. “You took that revelation very well.”

“Revelation?” Adora asked. “Off the record, Princess Entrapta, the existence of alien life isn’t a _revelation_. I’m literally sitting across a table from a woman with cat ears. Aliens existing is honestly a bit of a given.”

“Oh, that’s a really good way to put it,” Entrapta said.

Through Adora, Bow was speaking. Catra gritted her teeth, her upper canines digging into her lower gums. The two were holding a conversation. Princess Entrapta didn’t even care about her. She needed to either gain a lot of scientific knowledge, or she needed to take that earpiece from Adora. Either way, she couldn’t do it in view of the Princess.

Immediately, she began devising a scheme. Adora had a smug smirk on her face. Catra intended to wipe it off. As a cacophony of drums went off in her head, she looked at Adora. Adora in turn couldn’t stop looking at the Force Captain. Entrapta turned to Catra.

“So, what do _you_ think happened?”

This was where Catra had a serious advantage. She would have to thank Lord Hordak for giving her his backstory. It played to the Horde’s convenience at the moment.

“I think it involved Lord Hordak’s species,” she said. “The Galactic Horde.”

Entrapta’s eyes widened, and her hair wrapped around Catra.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You know about the Galactic Horde!”

Adora appeared perplexed. There was no way Bow knew about this. Only Catra and Entrapta knew, and Catra returned Adora’s previous smirk. Now, they were playing _her_ game. Adora was seconds from smashing her fist upon the table when Catra opened her mouth to speak again.

“The Galactic Horde,” Catra said. “Lord Hordak’s people. Clones of the ‘rightful’ master of the universe.”

“You’re right!” Entrapta exclaimed. “That was my idea too! I think the Galactic Horde had a part to play. I’ve made a lot of deductions about this.”

Entrapta opened a small holographic display with a press of her glove’s palm. Illuminated in green was one square, the other in pink. The two squares expanded, until they pressed against one another. Then, she expanded the display, producing the two squares across her entire wall. The squares split into dozens of different displays, all of them the same two squares, with blue borders.

“My idea is this!” Entrapta exclaimed. “In every other timeline, the First Ones, represented by the pink square, lost to the Galactic Horde, represented by the green square.”

Every display but the center ended in the same result. There were differences, all sorts of them, but in the end, the green square always crushed the pink square. Then came the display in the center.

“In theory,” Entrapta said, “the First Ones winning is such a massive change that it wasn’t just a new timeline. No, in theory, the results of this divergence would be placed into a multiverse unto themselves. However, since all timelines must end in the same result, that being the inevitable heat death of the universe, my projections show that the timeline corrects itself. There are significant similarities no matter who wins, including that Etheria is hurled into the pocket dimension known as Despondos!”

“The what?” Adora asked, completely lost.

“The pocket dimension,” Catra said. “Keep up, Adora.”

Catra could barely hide her own shock and awe at this. Aliens was one thing, but the idea that there was an entire multiverse out there, and that theirs was an entirely different multiverse from another, well, that was outright incredible. Then, Entrapta spoke.

“There are other similarities in every timeline that I’ve been able to simulate through computerized scenarios. No matter what, one of the people of Etheria becomes the She-Ra. In one, Catra becomes ‘Cat-Ra.’ Kind of a fun pun! In most, it’s Adora, although in one it’s been Mermista, in one it’s been Glimmer. There are some really interesting simulated timelines too! The most fascinating ones have got to be the one where Adora takes over and leads the Galactic Horde, and the one where Glimmer goes insane and annihilates all of Etheria!”

Catra and Adora met gazes, their eyes wide in surprise, awe turning to horror.

“That sounds terrifying,” Catra said.

Adora nodded. “That’s terrible. I would never lead the Galactic Horde!”

Catra blinked a few times. “I mean, I think that one’s plausible, but I’m more concerned with the one where Princess Glimmer destroys the entire planet.”

“I would never take up leadership of an alien army,” Adora said.

“You have no problem taking leadership of an army _here_ ,” Catra said.

“Yeah, but that’s different!” Adora exclaimed.

“How is it different?” Catra asked.

Adora blinked several times.

Entrapta looked between the two.

“Anyways,” Entrapta said. “So, that’s what I think happened here. I think the First Ones beat the Galactic Horde in this timeline, but we still ended up trapped in the pocket dimension.”

“Wait,” Adora said, assuming once again a demeanor akin to Bow. “So, how can we be trapped in another dimension as part of the multiverse? Isn’t each universe a dimension?”

“Not quite,” Entrapta said. “We’re talking about timelines. Dimensions are alternate worlds _within_ timelines.”

Adora nodded slowly. That was simple enough. Now, she and Catra were back to even footing. It was time that Catra used all her guile to get that earpiece away from her. She was clearly distracted, as was Bow, most likely. This left her with one opportunity.

“Would you get Adora a miniature cupcake?” Catra asked.

“I can get my serving staff to--”

“No,” Catra said. “Please get Adora a miniature cupcake yourself. It’s just not the same. In fact, she won’t eat food brought to her by servants. She’s She-Ra, and all, and since she’s basically the Princess of Princesses, she only accepts food brought to her by other Princesses.”

Adora stared blankly at Catra. “That’s not quite true,” she said, but Entrapta was already off. The moment she was away, Catra got up from her seat.

“What’s your game?” Adora asked as Catra circled her.

“No game,” Catra responded, her tail brushing across Adora’s left ear. Adora slapped it away lightly, ensuring she didn’t hurt her.

With that, Adora moved her hand back. She pressed her hand to her ear, and her eyes widened. She looked to Catra, and rose from her seat, only to find Catra motioning backwards with her thumb. She removed her foot from the ground, exposing a mess of broken plastics and destroyed sensors. Adora’s face went completely white, but she saw what Catra was pointing at.

Entrapta was returning.

“I got you a cupcake!” she exclaimed. “It’s tiny, but you might like it anyways, I don’t know.”

“Thank you,” Adora said, taking the cupcake and eating it in one bite. “Anyways, back to what we were discussing. Have you given any thought to who you might join?”

“Nope!” Entrapta exclaimed, sitting down.

“That’s fair,” Catra said. “Look, we’re going to be very welcoming to your scientific research in the Horde. We’re not traditionalist like the Hegemony.”

“Yeah,” Entrapta said. “Still, it would be kinda awkward talking to my fiancé again.”

Adora spit out her soda. It splashed upon the tablecloth. She looked between the Princess and Catra, and then audibly gulped.

Catra, on the other hand, was simply enjoying the drama. Oh, she had known they were in love, but close to _marriage_? Now, that was interesting. The revelations just kept coming today. In fact, now she understood why Lord Hordak didn’t want to discuss the personal affairs between the two. Moments from marriage, and then they had fallen apart. Perhaps Catra needed to investigate further, find the Princess’s secrets, and…

No. That wouldn’t work. That wouldn’t work at all. She had to stick to the plan. If she decided to pry, everything would fall apart.

“So, that’s the benefits we can offer you,” Catra said.

“We have greater resources,” Adora said.

Catra had her now. No Bow. No technological knowledge. Nothing she could do. Catra could make countless offers, and Adora would lose. Adora clenched her jaw and fists, and stared directly into Catra’s eyes. Then, she flashed that same smirk. Catra thought it was impotent, but she kept on her guard.

“You do!” Entrapta said. “However, I also need support, and the Hegemony, especially high up, has a bad success rate with scientists and mechanics. The only one they keep employed is Bow. Let me ask you, Adora, why in the world would I ever join the Hegemony when they hate my work and hate me?”

“ _We_ won’t abandon you.”

Catra was befuddled. That was desperate; Entrapta had never been abandoned. She had never dealt with that sort of cold emotional destruction. She was Princess of an entire kingdom, master engineer and scientist. She had never known what it was like to be insignificant, what it was like to be abandoned, what it was like to be second!

Yet, in spite of that, Entrapta looked away, swiftly pulling her mask over her face. There was a sense of shame throughout the room. The golden runestone on Adora’s shining bracer seemed to glow, yet she didn’t even need to turn into She-Ra. One would have expected that to be her opening position. Still, Catra could still manage. Entrapta was off, but that meant she could still handle her.

“Lord Hordak never cared,” Adora said.

“Right, but we can provide you with a million things, we can support you, you would seriously assist us, we’re the good guys!” Nothing Catra said served a purpose. Entrapta remained conflicted. Catra realized she had to deal with this in a more unpleasant manner.

Entrapta’s weaknesses were on full display. She loved technology, but she also loved Lord Hordak. That could be used to Catra’s advantage.

“He ignored you?” Catra asked.

Entrapta shook her head.

“I expected him to come back,” she said. “I sent him away, but I never thought it’d be permanent. We weren’t compatible.”

Catra blushed. So, this was an unexpected angle. Still, she could make it work. She was Shadow Weaver’s best apprentice, and she’d be damned if she were outplayed by this thug of a woman, who lacked charisma. She made up for it with strength, but that left her a mere brute. How was Catra losing in a battle of wits to someone entirely without wit?

How was she second _again_?

 _Okay_ , Catra thought. _Keep it together_ , she reminded herself. The worst thing to do here would be fall apart in the middle of a business meeting.

“You know, I’ve always admired you,” Adora said.

Entrapta nodded, and pulled her mask up, wiping her face with her brown work gloves. “I suppose my work is kind of impressive.”

“No,” Adora said. “ _You_.”

“Me?” Entrapta asked.

“Yes,” Adora said. “I mean, think about it! You’ve spent your entire life in this mountain, and with nothing at all, just a small group of servants who’ve barely spent any time with you, you’ve built an empire that could overrun both the Hegemony and the Horde! It’s not just that we want your resources, Entrapta. It’s your _mind_ that makes you strong.”

Entrapta’s eyes widened. Catra felt her entire body grow cold. She scratched the sides of the chair. She couldn’t come up with some great manipulation, any powerful words. There was no speech for this. Adora had her pinned, Entrapta in her pocket.

Catra stumbled over her words.

“You mean it?” Entrapta asked, dazzled. “Even though I’m not like the other Princesses, even though I’m different? Even though I don’t fit in your perfect empire?”

Adora smiled. “Of course,” she said, placing her hand on Entrapta’s shoulder. “We can make you perfect.”

It was over. Catra released the chair, and gave up. She could feel tears welling in her eyes. She was outplayed; Adora had her beaten even in this, even in the thing that she was best at. There was only one thing she could do. She could use the last resort. Disobey Lord Hordak completely, and tell the Princess of Dryl the truth. It was so tempting.

“I have gifts for both sides,” Entrapta said.

Her prehensile hair presented on the left a pair of miniature objects. At first, Catra assumed that it was just more food, but then she saw that the Princess was in fact presenting a pair of tiny crossbows. She looked to the side, unable to even look at Entrapta.

“These are for the leader of the Hegemony, Bow. Semi-automatic wrist-mounted crossbows. He can build a loading system if he wants, but they’re really meant to be ceremonial.”

“Empress Angella is still the leader of the Hegemony,” Adora said.

“She is?” Entrapta asked. “Huh, doesn’t seem like it sometimes.”

Then, on the right, she presented to Catra a small crystal of magenta coloration. There was incomprehensible First Ones writing on the bottom. Catra took it into her hand. It was so small, so meaningless a gift. Catra tucked it into her pants.

“Lord Hordak can plug this into his armor,” she said. “I made the armor for him before we split up, but I never got to give him the power source. He probably thinks it’s dead weight.”

“Thank you,” Adora said.

Catra simply sat there.

“The Hegemony’s going to accept you,” Adora said. Catra mimed hissing at her.

That was it. The meeting wrapped up. Catra sat in silence, tapping her fingers along the table. It was over, and everyone knew it. Adora flashed that smirk one last time, and the rogue rose from her seat. Entrapta shook Adora’s hand, with her own hand rather than her hair, no less, and pledged allegiance to the Hegemony. It was all a rush. Every time Catra had spoken a word, it had been only one before she descended to stammering.

Then, she remembered who she was. She was the woman who had pushed Lord Hordak back to assertiveness over the course of a conversation. She was Catra of the Fright Zone; her mastery was certainly of manipulation, but sometimes the only manipulation you needed was the truth. As a pair of red-eyed robots approached to escort her from Dryl, she stood.

“Lord Hordak still loves you,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Entrapta turned back. Adora shot Catra a murderous glare, but Catra assumed the position she always should have taken here. She was in control. She had this easy enough. Princess Entrapta loved Lord Hordak, and he in turn loved her. If Lord Hordak married up, if he had access to the resources of Dryl, it would instantly even out the conflict between the two.

“He admitted it to me. ‘This is how I will remember her,’ he said. He still cares.”

Entrapta looked between Catra and Adora. Adora kept reserved, but Catra did the same. Crying wouldn’t get her anywhere. This wasn’t the worst situation she had talked her way out of.

Then she saw Adora. Her friend. That was _Adora_ standing before her, the one who had held her throughout childhood, who had kept her safe. The one who protected her as she cried, who was her everything. She had only realized days ago that she loved her, and now she despised her so much.

Of course, she had always despised her. That was the thing. Their relationship was more than a little complex. It wasn’t as simple as love or hate; she had seen the way Adora had always held herself back for her, and she was grateful. At the same time, she couldn’t stand her. Adora, perfect little Adora, was everything she wasn’t.

“Tell me,” Catra said. “What happened? What happened ten years ago? When you and Lord Hordak split apart? I want every detail. You left him because he killed people, right? When you asked him not to kill anyone in the battle?”

“No,” Entrapta said, turning around. Soda Pop, the elf, brought a bottle of carbonated soda to Catra. She twisted the cap away, and took a sip. It crackled in her mouth for a moment, and then she felt the taste of grape on her tongue. Afterward, she set the purple glass bottle on the table. Entrapta walked back over, and sat down. Adora did the same.

There was a genuine curiosity to Adora’s expression, some remnant of the Adora Catra had once known. The two looked at one another, and Catra saw a dullness in the gold of Adora’s eyes. They were almost brown, blending with her original blue. Catra turned to Entrapta, who was looking around frantically and nervously.

“No, it’s not that,” she said. “Well, it was in a way, but it wasn’t. Yes, I thought he killed people, but that was forgivable. Statistical anomalies were bound to happen. It wasn’t that he killed Micah. I’m not even sure he did. Realistically, the probabilities are low that an artillery strike could have killed him.”

Adora shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“No,” she said. “No, it’s what came after. We were engaged, after a short period of time, but I was, well, I was worried. I asked him about it, I got confrontational, I got mad, but that was because I think I wanted him to go away. Not because I didn’t care about him. I did.”

“Of course you did,” Catra said, realizing she had Entrapta exactly where she wanted her.

“I thought that he didn’t want me back. Who could want me? He was beautiful, he was an alien with a unique, unknown medical condition, and I was just me, just some stupid woman with cybernetic hair and a fixation on gadgets. He had started to ask things. Uncomfortable things. He asked me one day if I cared about him, or if I cared about the things I could do with him. The funny thing was that I was afraid of the same thing. I thought Hordak only wanted what I could do. He wanted my weapons, my robots, my gadgets. So, when he shut down on that day, I took that as confirmation of what I was already afraid of. I thought he didn’t want me. I decided to spare myself the trouble. I figured if he wanted me back he would come for me, but he never did. I always thought it was because he didn’t want me. Even today, he sent an envoy instead of coming himself.”

“He’s very sick,” Catra said. “Plus, he was scared. He thinks the same thing. He never contacted you because he thought you didn’t want him. He thinks he’s a failure, and he thinks you don’t love him.”

“You’re probably right,” Adora said, her eyes lighting up.

“The Hegemony will never be real friends with you,” Catra said. “They’re all about deceit, lies, painted-on smiles. In the end, they’ll never care about you for real. The Horde isn’t pretty. We’re not perfect. We’re rough, and we’re messy, and we can be serious bastards, but in the end, the Fright Zone is what it always has been. We’re a home for outcasts. Let the Hegemony pretend to be perfect. We’re the place that’ll never ask that of you.”

Adora looked at Catra. Entrapta looked between the two. Then, she rose to her feet.

“We’re done,” she said.

“So, who won?” Adora asked.

“Won?” Entrapta questioned. “That’s what neither of you get. It was never about winning. Both of you had me, but in the end you saw it as a competition. That’s the problem. I was gonna join the Hegemony, but Catra reminded me of the truth.”

“The truth?” Catra asked.

“Both sides are made up of different people with different agendas. I didn’t _just_ leave the Horde because of romantic drama. I left it because of Shadow Weaver. Because of the power games. Because in the end that’s all it is, a big power game. Hordak against Angella, playing for keeps. In the end, he wouldn’t give it up. He thinks he has to achieve victory, to appease Horde Prime! Thank you both for your time, but I’m not going to fight in these wars. The only way I’m taking sides is if you find peace, and there’s no chance of that happening. My goal is the advancement of science, but when the only thing that those advances will be used for is war, what’s the point of taking a side at all?”

“That’s fair,” Adora said.

Catra couldn’t help but agree with that assessment. Still, she had to fight back.

“I’m not making either side weapons,” Entrapta said. “I won’t be party to this war.”

“One side is destroying villages and lives,” Catra said.

“And what happens if I side with the Horde? That’s exactly what they would do! I know because it’s what they did! I love Hordak, but he used my machines to burn down villages and loot homes. He said it was the necessary evils of war. If that’s what’s necessary, count me out.”

Catra nodded.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get back to work. I hope you come to terms. Maybe you’ll see me again. Get out.”

The two rose from their seats and turned to leave. Before they could, however, Catra was stopped. She felt Entrapta’s hair around her shoulders as the gates opened, blinding everyone within with a shocking, vibrant, brutal light; the only one not affected was Entrapta, who had already lowered her welding mask back over her face.

“Before you go,” Entrapta said. “The crystal has my communications code on the back. In Galactic Horde. Tell Lord Hordak he can contact me if he ever needs me, really needs me. I’m not joining him, but I’m not going to just ignore him. We abandoned each other once. It was a mistake.”

“I’ll tell him,” Catra said quietly.

The two exited the fortress of Dryl, and a four-legged Horde robot wandered back in. Adora looked at Catra, and Catra in turn at Adora. They were on the road back home, a gray, rocky, mountainous path. Scorpia stood on her speeder on the right, Bow at a carriage on the left. The path down was wide, and the circular platform of stone outside the fortress had a thin edge. A single mistake, and one would find themself falling over, dead. The Colossi waited by the gates as they closed.

Princess Entrapta was gone, and her forces with her. Catra had failed in her mission, yet in a way, she had succeeded. The Horde didn’t have Entrapta, but neither did the Hegemony. In fact, if she remained neutral, that would leave things good.

Still, she’d really thought she’d had her with the reminder that Lord Hordak still cared. He likely wouldn’t take the news well at all. Turning away from Adora, Catra couldn’t help but recall that if she had failed to convince Princess Entrapta of her plight, she was unlikely to convince Adora. Bow shot Adora a look, and Adora shook her head. Scorpia stepped down from the platform, clearly looking for Entrapta, appalled not to find her.

“Catra!” Adora exclaimed. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” Catra asked. “You’re not considering joining up again, are you?”

Her eyes were a glittering gold now, painted over. Catra knew what was coming. She snapped her fingers, and pointed to Scorpia. The strong Princess approached, and the Colossi looked down at them. Princess Entrapta had a link to the mechanical titans, most likely. She could see through them. Or, at least, she could until suddenly, their eyes went out. They stood still as statues, their inner workings no longer functioning. Bow stood, a data pad in his hands which he quickly put away.

“You messed up our first plan,” Adora said. “Luckily, I improvised one on the fly. Unfortunately, you messed that one up too.”

“Yeah,” Catra said. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s ruining your life.”

“Finally, a little self-awareness,” Adora said.

“So, are we doing this?” Catra asked. “I see Bow knocked out the Colossi and their cameras.”

“It’ll take Entrapta two hours to handle that and the gate, thanks to my virus,” Bow said. “I have to say, I am impressed you not only instantly deduced that I was talking to Adora, you handled it well. Granted, I’m pretty sure she got further than I did. Having basic empathy generally does help, I find.”

“Two hours?” Catra asked. “More than enough time to capture you both.”

“That’s some serious haughtiness,” Bow said, preparing his crossbow. “After all, I have She-Ra.”

“Yeah,” Catra said. “Not if we’re quick, you don’t.”

With no further exchange, Catra threw a precise punch toward Adora’s face. To her surprise, she found it caught. Adora smiled as she clenched her fist, and Catra felt her own hand squeezed within Adora’s. She gritted her teeth and stared into Adora’s face, then went for the abdomen with her next blow. To her shock, that one was caught too.

“You’re predictable,” Adora said. “This is gonna be a treat.”

“Scorpia!” Catra exclaimed.

Scorpia rushed to her defense, her feet pounding on the stone like a tank as she charged forth. Adora nonchalantly tossed Catra aside, and bent backward. Scorpia swiped with her claws, but it was only a moment before a tranquilizer dart put her down. Catra used the opportunity to roll out of harm’s way, and then went for Bow.

Their clash was one of wits as much as one of strength. Bow clearly miscalculated in aiming for Scorpia, but he was quick to adapt. Aiming his crossbow below Catra’s feet, he fired a pair of bolts in the ground in her path. Catra was about to mock him for missing when she tripped and fell. Narrowly, she managed to stand on her hands, barely keeping her face from smacking against the stone. Back on her feet, she grabbed the crossbow from Bow’s hand, and tossed it to the ground. With a pair of kicks to his chest, she knocked him down. He groaned in pain, but she wasn’t done. To ensure he couldn’t get back in the fight, Catra walked back. Taking his arrows, which had produced a hard light tripwire, she placed them over him as he tried to get up. Taking another pair from the barrel of his crossbow, she did the same with them. Four wires were now above Bow, and any attempt to get up would inevitably fail.

So, Scorpia was unconscious and Bow was trapped. That left only Catra and Adora. Adora’s approach was slow and deliberate. Catra beckoned her forth, curling her clawed right hand inward.

“Come on,” Catra said. “Turn into an eight-foot sword lady and wreck me. You know you want to. It’s all you’ve ever wanted through your entire life. Nineteen years’ worth of catharsis.”

“Oh, please,” Adora said, approaching with nightmarish calm. “That’d mean you’re important, and I’m not even gonna dignify you with that.”

“What do you mean?”

Adora’s blows were furious. Catra had only a second to dodge the first, whirling past it, light on her feet. The next, she wasn’t so lucky. Adora slammed her fist into her chest, knocking the air from her lungs. Stumbling back, Catra decided to rally her spirits. Scorpia couldn’t be down for too long, knowing how strong she was. If Adora was going to play a game of overconfidence, Catra just needed to time her out.

“Come on!” Catra exclaimed. “That all you got?”

Her answer came in the form of a brutal right hook. She stumbled back again, her lip busted and bloodied. Shaking it off, she lunged toward Adora like a feral animal, tackling her. Swiping at her face with her claws, Catra found that not a single blow connected. With only her left arm, Adora held back her arm and her impotent hissing and scratching. Grabbing her, Adora slammed her to the ground.

“Idiot,” Adora said. “You know, this is why you were always second.”

“I was second because of _you_!” Catra shrieked.

She balled her right hand into a fist, and went for Adora’s throat. She struck the blow successfully, causing Adora to back away slightly, but then she found her next blow not only caught, but brutally taken advantage of. Adora caught her left hook with her left hand, and with the right, she grabbed it.

“You tear people’s eyes out, you rancid stray,” Adora said. “About time someone declawed you.”

Catra whimpered as she felt Adora’s right hand, its insurmountable strength, on her claws. Adora stared into her eyes, and the gold slowly dulled, not only into a brown but into a blue. She looked down, and saw the way things were going.

“Catra?” she asked. “What am I doing? No, no, no, please, help me, Catra. I don’t know why I’m doing this, please help!”

Catra punched her in the abdomen before she could say anything more. Oh, certainly, there was a chance it was genuine, but Catra had learned better to assume good faith. Adora wheezed, but then regained her breath far too quickly, letting go. Catra, in one clean blow, raked her claws down Adora’s back, tearing through her jacket and sending her toppling. Adora was on one knee when she looked up at Catra, eyes entirely gold. Her irises were burning, divine flame, her pupils death. Catra watched as she turned around, the bloody scars down her back healing.

“You see that?” she asked. “I’m not even She-Ra. So, let me give you this lesson, Catra. _You can’t hurt me_.”

“Maybe not,” Catra said. “I can try, though.”

“There was a time I would’ve accepted your surrender,” Adora said. “Now I don’t want your prostrations, your pleas, your apologies. I just want to see you bleed.”

“Yeah?” Catra said, struggling to remain standing. “Well, come on, you arrogant bitch! I’m not kneeling. I’m not pleading. I’m not apologizing. So if you want your pound of flesh, come and take it! It’s all you’re ever gonna get from me!”

“Lord Hordak wanted this, you know. He’s hoping you’ll get captured.”

“Save it,” Catra said. “We both know I was always better with mind games.”

“Yeah,” Adora said. “Because _I’m_ a soldier. You’re just a tricky coward. Unfortunately for you, I know your entire book. I was there when you wrote it.”

“Yeah,” Catra said. “Unfortunately, you weren’t there for Force Captain orientation. Shadow Weaver, for the first time in her life, taught me something.”

“What?” Adora asked.

“Don’t monologue in a battle, idiot.”

Before Adora knew it, she was pinned to the ground by Scorpia. Adora was fit as hell, but Scorpia had even more strength, muscle upon muscle. Catra walked over as though they had not clashed brutally moments before, and spat on Etheria’s greatest defender. Adora looked up with barely-contained fury.

“By the--”

Catra muffled her mouth with a hand. “Hush,” she said quietly. “Well, Scorpia, we didn’t get Entrapta, but at least we got something today.”

Unfortunately, it was at that moment that Catra heard the sound of hard light fizzling out, crackling until there was nothing left of it. She turned around, but it was far too late. Bow had her in his sights, the crossbow in his hand once more.

“You’d best return She-Ra,” Bow said coolly. “Or I’m going to shoot you.”

“What is this?” Catra asked. “A prisoner exchange?”

He fired a bolt at Scorpia. Catra, unexpectedly to even herself, caught it with her hand. Unfortunately, said hand happened to be the one on Adora’s mouth. Instead of calling out the transformation words, however, Adora did something even crazier. She _bit_ Catra, her teeth sinking into her former friend’s flesh. Catra yelped and leapt back, and Scorpia tried to keep Adora pinned. Unfortunately, Adora exclaimed the words, and in a flash of blinding, nightmarish light, she turned into She-Ra, a golden broadsword in her hand and wrath in her clenched fist.

Catra sighed. “Scorpia, we’re going to run now.”

“Noted!” Scorpia exclaimed, staring at She-Ra.

Her veins were black, her eyes a radiant gold. Her teeth were akin to fangs, her flesh graying and her power indomitable. The hated foe was an inch from Catra in merely the blink of an eye, She-Ra holding a sword at her throat.

“I’m not killing you right now, but I could,” she said. “If I threw your body down the mountain, nobody would come look for you. Nobody would care, and nobody would mourn.”

“You would,” Catra said.

Adora was silent.

“You’ve got a new outfit,” she said.

Indeed, Adora now wore a blue robe, a hood lined with fur atop it. Beneath it was a fully black shirt, with gold trimmings all across it.

“I could kill you now,” Adora said.

“You won’t,” Catra responded. “Besides the rules… you don’t want to. Well, more accurately, some part of you doesn’t want to. You care about me, don’t you?”

“You’ve got a lot of guts to say that when you’ve got a crossbow at your back and She-Ra in front of you.”

“This isn’t worth it, Adora,” Bow said. “Quit playing with your food. We’re done here.”

“Yeah,” Adora said. “I’m letting you go as a show of good faith. Not even capturing you.”

“Excuse me?” Bow responded. “That is extremely inadvisable.”

Adora grabbed Bow, who looked tiny compared to her, by the collar of his shirt. She stared into his eyes. He stared back, defiant, and finally gave her a calm nod.

“Go on your way,” Bow said.

“You’re not gonna attack us?” Catra asked.

“No,” Bow said. “The eight-foot-tall swordswoman told me not to, and I’m not so inclined to disobey her at the moment. I hope you have a nice day.”

“You too!” Scorpia exclaimed.

Catra shot her a glare.

“What?” Scorpia asked. “He seems nice.”

Catra crossed her arms. Adora turned back to her normal form, and for a moment, Catra thought she could see the Adora she had once known looking back at her. Then, it was all lost in a mess of gold.

The high of the battle was gone. Catra could feel the pain now. She crumpled to the floor of the speeder, her lip bleeding, her hands bruised, her legs and knees destroyed. She couldn’t help but let out a quiet whimper.

“Are you okay?” Scorpia asked.

“No!” Catra hissed. Scorpia backed away. Catra looked at her, and then sighed.

“I wish we had gotten Entrapta to come with us,” Scorpia said.

“Yeah,” Catra said. “Lord Hordak’s gonna be mad as hell.”

“Oh, he will be,” Scorpia said. “I’ll stick up for you, though. I was here, I can give him what I know. You put in your best effort, did good work, and then we both got defeated by She-Ra and some guy with a crossbow. They let us go out of what I think was politeness.”

“It wasn’t,” Catra sputtered, before bursting into a coughing fit.

She closed her eyes to try and sleep, but it was impossible. All she could manage was a few moments of rest at a time. The rest of them were occupied with dreams of Adora had once been, and the monster she had become.

**~Hegemony~**

“So, you are saying you gave away valuable information in the presence of the enemy, failed to retrieve Princess Entrapta’s aid, and were then defeated with little effort by the soldiers of the Hegemony?”

“Yes,” Catra admitted.

Lord Hordak sat upon his throne, his legs crossed. His clenched fist was upon his chin, and he stared at Catra. She had been patched up a few minutes ago, but he had still been very blunt and quick in demanding she enter his throne room.

“Well,” he said sharply. “I cannot deny my disappointment in your failure, but I suppose, as leader, it is my failure as well.”

“Okay,” Catra said. “Permission to speak freely?”

Lord Hordak looked around the room, and clasped his hands. “Permission granted, Force Captain.”

“This was hard.”

“Noted.”

“I’m serious,” she said. “Princess Entrapta wasn’t budging until I told her you still loved her. I wouldn’t say we entirely lost. It’s true that we didn’t get Entrapta, but that bit of information kept her from joining the Hegemony. Not to mention, she did give me a gift. She said you could plug it into your armor. Her communications code is on the back.”

A small spherical robot rolled toward Catra. A small compartment opened in its top, and Hordak merely waved its hand. A claw burst from it, and Catra took the power crystal from her pocket. She set it down in the robot’s claw, and it rolled toward Lord Hordak, its claw always staying upright. Lord Hordak took the crystal in his hand, and looked at it, as though pontificating on his own reflection.

“The power crystal,” he said. “The last thing I needed. Thank you, Force Captain.”

“For what?” Catra asked.

“The armor she made for me was powered. It had qualities which compensated for my illness. I will consider my victories as well as defeats, in this scenario; while we may have failed in the regard of regaining Princess Entrapta’s assistance, there is success in that I may now resume active duty, even on the battlefield.”

“Of course, Lord Hordak,” Catra said.

“Your affairs?” he asked, holding the crystal tight to his chest.

“What do you mean?” Catra asked.

“As a leader of the Horde, it is typically not prudent of me to pry into the matters of my subordinates. However, I have come to be personally _invested_ in your situation with Adora, partially because she is our enemy’s greatest weapon. Tell me, how did things fare?”

“I think I can get her back,” Catra said. “To do that, I’m gonna have to do a lot more work.”

Lord Hordak looked down. Ever so slightly, he gritted his teeth. He looked at Catra, and then back to the crystal.

“You are dismissed, Force Captain.”

“Yes, Lord Hordak,” Catra said.

“Wait. Force Captain?”

“Yes, Lord Hordak?”

“You have brought the Horde a new dawn. For all that has gone wrong today, at least one thing has gone right. You are doing great work. You are on your way to a higher position.”

“Thank you, Lord Hordak.”

The two looked between one another silently. They seemed to have an understanding. If Catra were to be honest, she would be a little disappointed when Lord Hordak inevitably made an error, and got himself ousted from his own throne.

“Are you going to contact Entrapta?” she asked.

“No. No matter how I long for her, I have no practical need for her beyond asking for her service, a request which has already been refused. I will honor that, and I shall not pursue her love if she does not wish to give it. Get out.”

Thus, Catra exited. She went down corridor after corridor, hall after hall, hoping that one of them would let her undo what she had done. In spite of it, however, there was nothing which could turn back time, which could undo reality.

Despite their claims otherwise, Catra knew she had failed. She had failed to retrieve Entrapta. She had failed to achieve support. She had failed to get Adora back. In the end, she had achieved nothing whatsoever.

So, Catra curled up in the empty communal showers. She sat back, her hands against a wet wall in a gray tile room. There was nobody who would come find her, not a single soul who was going to use the communal showers in the middle of the night.

Her tears washed away in the water. In the end, the mission had failed. It had been pointless. Pointless!

The cold water splashed upon her injuries, and she knew it was the only thing that kept her from feeling completely numb. However, the damage dulled quickly, the sensation completely destroyed by the overwhelming and consistent rushing of ice-cold water. Catra could only look into the water flowing constantly into the drain.

How she wished she could wash away too.

**~Hegemony~**

The palace of Bright Moon was quiet as Adora returned, her fists clenched. Bow watched her walk away, the frustration clear on her face. She wandered into the maze-like halls of the citadel, and he entered the kitchen. He was feeling hungry, and to his surprise, Da’el remained awake. Examining them, he scanned them with his eyes.

“How’s the food cooking?” Bow asked.

“Just fine,” Da’el responded. “What would be your delight tonight, Lord Bow?”

“I’m not ‘lord’ of anything, Da’el. Flattery’s gonna get you nowhere.”

“Au contraire,” Da’el responded. “I find that flattery gets you everywhere. It got you alongside the Empress, didn’t it?”

Bow looked to them, and decided it wasn’t worth it to challenge such an assertion. It was true, after all. Outside a nearby window, covered in a wooden cross, a winged creature flicked past for just a moment. Bow had his crossbow trained on nothing, as it was gone by the time he could adjust his aim.

“Touchy tonight,” the chef said.

“Long day,” Bow responded. “It’s been a long day.”

“How did things go with the new recruit?” Da’el asked.

“Entrapta or Adora?” Bow questioned.

“Both!” Da’el said. “Now, what would your meal be?”

“Don’t try to coax information out of me,” Bow responded. “I like you, Da’el. Don’t make me stop liking you.”

“Understood,” Da’el responded. “Still, I’m always there if you need a shoulder to cry on… or an attentive ear.”

“I know,” Bow said. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“I’m merely the chef,” Da’el said.

“You’re merely a chef in the same way I’m merely an arbalest, Da’el. Again, I like you. So, this is a matter of professional courtesy; you can get information out of anyone you like except for me, and except for Glimmer. The other Princesses are fair game, but don’t get caught. Additionally, if you find anything suspicious, anything at all? You report it to _me_ first.”

“My,” Da’el said, smiling. “Taking up the role of spymaster now?”

“Get some sleep, Da’el. It’s been a long day for all of us.”

“Yes, your royal spymaster.”

With a grandiloquent bow, they disappeared. Bow clasped his hands over his mouth. He had to be exceptionally careful. The fruition of his plan, the plan he had since twelve years ago, was coming. All he had to do was wait it out.

In some ways, the timing of She-Ra’s rise was an inconvenience. However, he had his ways of adjusting. At last, he saw a bright pink glow. The kitchen was empty, empty except for the rock salt geodites. Filling the hallway was the Empress herself.

“I understand you failed?” she asked.

“Yes,” Bow said.

“Disappointing,” the Empress said, looming over him. “Come to my chambers. We have much to discuss.”

Bow sighed, and with a walk through the labyrinthine paths, he was sitting upon a comfortable, cushioned chair in the Empress’s chambers. Another night, he would have been holding Glimmer tight, but tonight she likely thought he was still coming home. That left him time to work with the Empress.

This was certainly the sort of thing that brought him conflict. Still, as he looked out the window at the starless night, he wondered if she would smile if he brought back the stars. The Empress poured him a glass of the Hegemony’s finest wine. Bow held back a scoff; he would not do his work while intoxicated. The moment she was looking away, he poured it out the window, and pressed the glass to his lips.

“My, quite the thirst for wine,” she said.

“It’s been a very long day,” Bow responded.

“Indeed,” the Empress said. “So, what’s our next move?”

“I noticed something that the Force Captain had. A protrusion in her pocket. On the road home, Adora informed me that Entrapta gave her a power crystal for Lord Hordak. In addition, I have installed a virus into Entrapta’s systems. It’ll look like a simple error to her, but to me, it’s a kill-switch. I already tested it today.”

“Are we going to finally strike Dryl?” the Empress asked.

“I have to advise against it,” he said. “I know you may see it as being in your best interest, but you need a more indirect route. If she knows that it’s a deliberate exploit rather than a simple glitch, she’ll patch it out.”

“So, you failed.”

Angella poured more wine into his glass. Bow simply stared at the red liquid within. “The trick is never to leave failure as a possibility. Ensure that for every loss, you gain something in turn. We came away from today with new information, an ability which could disable Dryl’s entire network, and we have tested She-Ra’s skill. I would say we’ve still got the edge.”

“As though we could ever lose the edge,” the Empress said. “Come, drink your wine.”

“No, thank you,” Bow said. “I’m afraid I’ve lost the taste for it.”

“Disappointing,” the Empress said. “Bow, little birds say the most worrying things. Some have stated you intend to betray me.”

“Your divinity, I intend nothing of the sort,” Bow said. “I pledged myself to your service. I am, and remain, loyal to you.”

“You have become a handsome young man,” she said. “So loving and dutiful to my daughter Glimmer. Does that love for her turn you against me, perhaps?”

Bow set the wine down on the windowsill, and rose from his chair. The Empress was taller than him, and with a snap of her fingers, she could atomize him. It was best to tread lightly the moment she grew near, for if she were displeased none would discover his death. So, tread lightly the arbalest would.

“I would never turn against the Hegemony,” he said.

“I do not want loyalty to the Hegemony, Bow,” the Empress said, placing a hand on his face. “I want loyalty to _me_.”

“I am loyal to the Hegemony,” Bow said. “You are the leader of the Hegemony. I have no intent to see you perish.”

Her hand, once warm and comforting, was now a thing of horror. Bow knew that with a quick flash of light, she could eradicate him as though he were never there. He looked her dead in her eyes, and she tilted her head.

“I am loyal to you,” Bow said icily.

“Good,” the Empress responded. “Now, get to Glimmer’s chambers. She has been waiting for you all day. She has not rested for a moment.”

“Yes, your divinity,” Bow said. He bowed, and at once exited her chambers. The moment the door shut behind him, he gasped for air, pressing a hand to the wall.

So, at this stage of the journey, things grew perilous. Bow moved his head up. He would not allow himself to break now; he was too far on his path to falter. There was another path, of course, that of a scholar and a gentleman, but he supposed he left that possibility behind long ago. No, now he had but one choice. Mustering up the valor he could, he pressed on.

He pressed on.

**~Hegemony~**

Deep in his sanctum, its lights pure and clear, sat Lord Hordak. If only he could tell her. She was so close to being back to him, but he no longer fought solely for his pride. Ten years ago, he would have ceased war entirely if it had pleased his beloved fiancee. Now, he had no choice in the matter.

A computer screen displayed the progress of the dimensional rifts. They were growing. The Empress was destabilizing Etheria itself, it seemed. Looking at his armor, what had once been dead weight, soon to be made whole by the crystal, Hordak smiled.

He did not trust anyone but her to aid him in donning the armor, yet he knew he would have to nonetheless. The dictator supposed the machines would have to do. Looking into the crystal, he saw himself within. What had he become? Once a servant of Horde Prime, now a hermit wasting away in his sanctum.

No. He would not give in. Now was the worst time of all to surrender to the tide of rage and self-hatred which washed over him. Now he was once more Lord Hordak, leader of the Etherian Horde. It was time he acted the part, rather than that of a brooding, broken man. Moving to the center of the room, he began to interface with the machines throughout.

Still, he would look at that hologram of her often, and he would remember the way it felt to hold her. To know that to her, he was not a failure. Now he hoped the war would end, not only to please Horde Prime, but to hopefully have her in his arms once more.

As the machines placed the armor around his body, he felt pain, yet this was not pain of penance or of loss. No, this was a good pain, darkness before a glorious dawn. And indeed, there would be a dawn, for Lord Hordak would at last return to power and to the field of battle. In the rafters of the sanctum flew a bat-winged creature, its cherubic cheeks a warm red in the light of the sanctum.

Yet, as he felt the procedure finish, he stared at the crystal. Then, he placed it into its place in the collar of his black, silver-lined armor. On his right hand, that which was untouched and intact, he placed a palm-implanted energy blaster. It did not have the full power that would be achieved through his secret project, but it was compact and beneficial. Lord Hordak took a black mask with a red visor from atop the machinery, and placed it over his face. Three strips of metal on its back automatically linked, fastening it to his head, leaving his vision a vibrant scarlet.

This, Hordak was sure, would be the twilight of the Princess Hegemony.

A red dawn was on the horizon. Blood would spill in the coming days. Lord Hordak could hardly wait.


	7. Disloyalty

Lonnie was locking eyes with none other than Lord Hordak. Along a bumpy, icy trail, four members of the Etherian Horde were traveling within a troop transport. The wheels dug through melting snow. In the front, Kyle was driving. Alongside them were crates with lightly armored, fur-lined coats, and Horde filtration masks, which had opaque visors. Rogelio was looking between Lonnie and Lord Hordak, clearly wondering what was going on. The overlord of the Horde stared at Lonnie, and she, although tempted, couldn’t make herself look away.

In Lord Hordak’s hand was a red holographic display. It showed a beautiful, sparkling tower, atop it a gargantuan crystal ball contained between four spires. It was located on a frozen lake, everything around it cracking. Rogelio ceased to look between the two, and moved to staring at the hologram.

“So,” Kyle asked. “How close is this thing?”

“Thirty-nine meters away,” Lord Hordak said. “Using Universal Etherian measurement.”

“Gotcha,” Kyle said. “How many people did you say it had again? Like, ninety mages?”

“Ninety-nine in total,” Lord Hordak said. “Fortunately, it is on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Snows, meaning that reinforcements will be lacking.”

“Ninety mages,” Lonnie said. “Bigger groups of soldiers have lost to that number. With robot backup, no less.”

Lord Hordak clenched his fist, and gave a satisfied growl. Lonnie and Rogelio shared an awkward glance, and Kyle let slip a small “eep” sound. The warlord opened his fist, and looked at Kyle, who was driving.

“True,” he said. “Those teams lacked something essential to this mission, however.”

“What’s that?” Kyle asked, hoping the answer wasn’t what everyone thought it was.

“ _Me_.”

The transport collectively groaned. Lord Hordak’s eyes widened like those of a confused animal, and he looked around the transport. Rogelio growled something out, and Lord Hordak shot him a glare.

“I spent two years fighting alongside King Hiss in the early years of the Horde, Rogelio. Did you think I did not speak Reptilyazyk?”

“All he said was that you’re like the Kyle of the Horde leadership,” Lonnie said.

“Hey!” Kyle exclaimed.

“Wait,” Lord Hordak said. “Kyle is insulted to be compared to _me_?”

“Listen, Lord Hordak, glorious leader,” Lonnie said. “Compare and contrast our other leadership. You’ve got Catra, who’s at least led a couple successful operations, and while we don’t like her, she’s troubled and at least we know her. You’ve got Scorpia, who’s the nicest person around. You’ve got Octavia, who led us on the seas and managed to keep our naval forces operating against Salineas’s navy for a very long time. You’ve got _Shadow Weaver_ , who _sucks_ , but she’s at least very good with logistics, not to mention being creepy as hell, disciplined, and having ridiculous prowess with dark magic. Then we have you.”

“The leader of the entire faction, who manages it.”

“Who is losing a war, let me remind you!” Kyle exclaimed. “Look, I’m not one to talk about efficiency, but all you ever do is sit in a chair and yell at us every so often, and Lonnie and Kyle have a bet on whether you spend your time away from the throne working on your makeup routine!”

“I do not,” Lord Hordak said brusquely.

“Noted,” Kyle said.

Rogelio shifted in his pockets, and handed Lonnie three golden coins. Lord Hordak looked between the three, and for a moment there was something on his face, something reminiscent of shame. Then, he clenched his fist once more.

“How widespread is this opinion?” he asked.

“I can count the people who like your leadership on one hand. That’s including Imp, by the way.”

The growl Lord Hordak made was considerably less sure of himself.

“I think it says something about how we feel about you when we’re willing to say this to your face, Lord Hordak.”

“Yes, I suppose it does,” he responded.

The two shared a momentary silence, and then Lord Hordak commanded that Kyle stop the vehicle. There were lights in the distance, bright blue and white lights. A creature with bat-like wings flew overhead, blue in the night sky. The tyrant looked between the Horde trio.

“I have brought you out here for a few reasons,” Lord Hordak said.

“To kill us?” Kyle asked anxiously.

“No,” Lord Hordak said. “I have few enough competent subordinates as it is, I cannot afford to kill them.”

“So, what’s the real goal of this?” Lonnie asked.

“An insurance policy,” Lord Hordak said. “A backup plan. Shadow Weaver and Catra both plot against me. I expected this trio of cadets, ones with great potential, to be considerably more loyal. It seems I am mistaken in such an assumption.”

“I’m sorry!” Kyle said. “We didn’t mean any of that.”

Lord Hordak chuckled. “I appreciate your critiques, in all honesty. Only a foolish leader would silence their subordinates. I am far more welcoming of open, honest words than I am of lying. I do not like being lied to. Which is why I am aware of your fraternization.”

“Oh, no,” Kyle said. “He _did_ bring us out here to kill us!”

“No!” Lord Hordak exclaimed. “Is Kyle the only one here who is afraid of me?”

Lonnie and Rogelio nodded. Kyle had an indignant expression. The four began to don their coats, and with a motion of his hand, Lord Hordak opened the back door of the transport. They trudged out into the snow, wearing black coats and filtration masks. They were warmer than expected, likely due to internal heating systems. Perhaps the most notable thing of the lot was the distinct glow at the collar of Lord Hordak’s coat; especially in a full coat, it was hard not to notice the glowing power crystal at his neck.

Mist was expelled through their every breath, the filtration systems keeping their faces warm. While Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio had blue visors on theirs, it quickly became apparent that Lord Hordak had his customized. An opaque red visor was accompanied by a scarlet glare, which ran across the snowy terrain of the frozen lake.

“The plan is simple,” Hordak said. “Lonnie, Rogelio, you will use stealth to go to the lowest sublevel of the communications tower.”

“Communications tower?” Kyle asked.

“Did you not read the file?” Lonnie asked. “This is a Hegemony comms tower. That crystal on top of it lets them have communications with other kingdoms throughout the different crystal balls out there. If we take it out, we completely disable contact with the Kingdom of Snows for around two weeks.”

“Nobody will touch that crystal ball,” Lord Hordak said. “It is imperative that Snows communication remains up. I will nullify it myself, and then I will hijack it to send mass communications across Bright Moon.”

“How?” Lonnie asked, genuinely perplexed. “You can’t use magic.”

“For all the Hegemony claims otherwise, their more advanced systems are as reliant on technology as ours, cadet. I will interface with the First Ones technology that powers the tower and nullify the signal until the time is right. They will be unable to call for any reinforcements.”

“Okay,” Lonnie said. “So how do we deal with the guards?”

Lord Hordak pulled from his coat’s front pocket a small metal bracelet. Kyle did the same less than a second after Lord Hordak had his own. On their hips were tasers, the same sort they typically used in the Horde.

“These metal bracelets allow you to achieve complete invisibility as long as you stand still. It takes two seconds to transition into invisibility, but once it is achieved you are invisible until you move in a significant manner again. A mere shift of position will not dispel it.”

“Sweet,” Lonnie said. “What about you?”

Lord Hordak’s face could not be seen through his mask, yet all present could discern that he smiled. Oh, how he smiled; a twinge went through Lonnie’s body. All the shrieking and threatening in the world could not make her fear the tyrant, yet all it took was a simple, indiscernible smile to render the entire trio shivering, and not due to the cold of the Kingdom of Snows.

“Kyle and I will proceed up the stairs to extract information from their systems on the top floor. Information I need.”

“So, are you gonna tell us the whole plan?” Lonnie asked.

“Simply make your way to the sublevel, and burn the supplies.”

“Burn them?” Lonnie asked. “Why would we do that?”

“Because I told you to,” Lord Hordak said, looming over him and cracking the knuckles of his right hand.

“You’re insane,” Lonnie said.

“Perhaps,” Lord Hordak said, before directing them onward.

On they plunged. Across the frozen lake, Lonnie and Rogelio ran. Searchlights of bright white ran across the lake, combing it in search of them. At last, they reached the tower. Waiting, they saw the shadow of Lord Hordak, glowing a bright red, caught by the searchlights. Kyle backed away across the frozen lake.

“Go in,” echoed Lord Hordak’s crackling voice through the mask. “Once you are inside, we will have silence on this frequency. Go to the lowest sublevel.”

“What about you?” Lonnie asked.

“I intend to see exactly what I can do.”

“You’re outnumbered,” she said.

“Substantially!” Lord Hordak said with a laugh akin to madness. “Do not worry about me.”

“I’m more worried for Kyle,” Lonnie said.

“I trust Kyle,” Lord Hordak said. “He is key to this, more than you know.”

With that, Lonnie entered the door of the tower. Projecting a holographic display of the tower and its plans on her wrist, she saw the nearest lift, powered by magic and technological advancement alike. The comms frequency indeed ceased to function, and she and Rogelio found themselves looking around. Warily taking her taser in her hand, Lonnie moved through the facility deftly. No guards on this floor. Then, the sound of dozens of magical blasts indicated to her exactly what was going on. They were after Lord Hordak.

The lift was to the south of a circular holiday. She and Rogelio were halfway there when they saw a guard in a white uniform. The guard was moving quickly. Immediately, Rogelio pulled her to the wall by her arm. The two pressed against the wall, and slipped on the bracelets they had been given. The guard continued to approach, running along the floor. Had they spotted the pair?

The guard at last stopped, inches from them. When attempting to look at her arm, Lonnie realized that she was in fact invisible, just as the overlord had said. The guard looked curiously, their eyes concealed by a silver helm, their features pale and their hands covered in red sores. There was a sword on their hip, and a book on the other. Most certainly, this was a mage. The two infiltrators stayed as still as they could, their breath held in their chests in hopes they would not be found.

The guard looked at the wall, reaching out. Lonnie could feel a fire growing in her chest, a pain which she couldn’t bear much longer. The guard was thorough in their search, their hand running across the walls. Rogelio was nowhere to be seen, having disappeared. The guard’s hand drew closer and closer to the two, nearer and nearer. Lonnie prepared her taser, knowing that in all likelihood they would not be quick enough to deal with a mage.

Then, another guard, a bulky-looking figure in an equally absurd outfit, raced by. “Twenty people are down up there!” they exclaimed. “They say it’s Lord Hordak!”

“Oh, I’m not missing the chance to bag him,” the guard said with a crackling voice. “The Empress would have paintings of us commissioned.”

With that, the guard raced off, seconds from Lonnie and Rogelio. Mages were quick and powerful. If they chose to face one, they had a chance of success, yet they would likely sound an alarm. Stepping out, Rogelio led the way to the lift, which was concealed behind a set of double doors, painted white, the Fractal Flake, runestone of the Princess Frosta, upon it. The two entered the lift, and set it to the lowest sublevel, level -5. Deep under the ice, this sublevel laid.

“Man, I hope Kyle’s doing well,” Lonnie said.

Rogelio signed an agreement.

They had a storied history with the young recruit. He was green, anxious, constantly nervous and consistently sick. He was the sort of person who had little place whatsoever in the Horde. He would be much more accustomed to the rich life of a Hegemony citizen.

Well, Lonnie figured they had rich lives. Indeed, according to all indications, the Hegemony citizens lived in nice houses. They were well fed. Their weather was bright, their crops growing with a great consistency. Their world itself shone. Perhaps Lonnie was envious of that world somewhat.

She was the sort of person who had always belonged in the Horde. Rogelio even moreso. He was a lizardman, spawn of a people involved in the rebellion of King Hiss. He had told the story many times through words and sign alike. King Hiss wanted the best for his peoples, the snake and lizard people alike, but he chose a path of bloodshed and violence. Villages burned in his wake, the people of the dawning Hegemony enslaved to bolster his forces. When the laws of the war changed to disallow casualties, he refused to follow them. Blood for blood, he demanded.

That blood splattered upon the floor of Lord Hordak’s throne room the moment King Hiss refused to bend the knee. A month later, the reptilian peoples were dominated by the Hegemony, their last shelter overrun with kudzu and the last of them placed for work in the mines. Lord Hordak had never shown a moment of regret for that decision, yet he accepted all reptilians who sought to serve the Horde.

Perhaps it was hypocrisy, or perhaps a sort of strange, alien mercy. Either way, Lord Hordak was quiet about the matter. It was not stricken from record, yet he did not talk of it when asked. Today, it seemed things were different.

Lonnie and Rogelio had been members of the Horde since birth. Lonnie had always been a fighter, ever since childhood, Rogelio ever deft and noble in his brilliance. They had no other paths. Lonnie’s family had been dissidents who had sent her away to the Horde before their arrest. They had wanted a safe place for her. There was a place for her, but it was little more safe than the Hegemony would have been. It was merely unsafe in a different manner. In the Hegemony, she would live her life under a watchful eye, seeking any excuse to place her under arrest and put her to work in the mines.

She had seen the mines, seen their denizens. They arrested those who did not look like the Princesses. Reptilians, fishmen, Sea Elves, all were placed under arrest. Their treatment gave citizens, rightful, lawful citizens who bowed their heads and licked the boots of the Empress as they were told, jolly lives of sunshine and happiness. Those who played their part got to feel the winds of freedom and joy on their faces.

Yet Lonnie had heard the horror stories. Tales of the people who came in the night, who shattered doors and took denizens who had stated any intent to leave. She had heard the stories of empty homes, and how their residents mysteriously turned up at the mines. She knew, of course, the tales of those who would not join the Hegemony, villages and towns that believed in freedom and thus found themselves overrun with rapidly-expanding kudzu due to the mages, their citizens taken by geodites or displaced.

Perhaps Lonnie didn’t envy the Hegemony after all. Still, as she and Rogelio shared a glance just before the lift doors opened, they wondered how Kyle was doing. Hopefully, he was doing well.

Kyle was not doing well.

Lord Hordak had slashed a hole into the tower via laser. That was actually a bit of a relief to Kyle, whose hands were shaking with fear as he held onto his taser. The mages had spent their entire time firing at them. Now that Lord Hordak and Kyle were in the tower, however, things were worse. There was a spiral staircase upward in the middle of the room, and since the sole lift on the first floor was currently occupied, Lord Hordak had stated they would need to take the stairs upward. That was after taking out twenty mages with precise shots using palm-mounted devices.

In short, it had been the most tense four minutes of Kyle’s life.

Unfortunately, as they arrived on the second floor, things had gotten worse. It seemed their arrival was anticipated. They were surrounded by around twelve guards wearing white robes and silver masks. Lord Hordak was utterly calm in his response.

“Get down, Kyle.”

Kyle kneeled and closed his eyes. There was a spinning motion, the sound of beams being fired. When he opened them, every single guard was on the ground, stunned. Lord Hordak simply smiled.

“Under three seconds,” he said. “A completely new record.”

“What are you even thinking?” Kyle asked as Lord Hordak slowly walked to the lift.

“Listen closely, Kyle. You already know your place in my plan.”

 _Below my feet_ , Kyle heard in his head.

Always, he was below everyone else. He wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t a scrappy rebel. He just happened to have been deposited in some field somewhere, and had the misfortune to join the Horde, into a world of smog and ash where the only people he loved treated him like he was trash. They cared, of course; Lonnie and Rogelio had never meant anything with their torments, yet it was that disposition.

It was ironic. Kyle hadn’t really suffered that much throughout his life. He had never known his parents, so he hadn’t dealt with losing them. He had rarely ever been hurt, and he had only seen battle once or twice. Compared to the rest of the Horde, he knew his problems were small.

There was an audible groan from one of the guards as Lord Hordak waited for the elevator on the east side of the room, arms crossed behind his back. Kyle wondered if he was really cut out for this. What he was about to do, it was unheard of.

Lord Hordak turned to him, and, in a move that shocked even him, took a knee.

“What you are doing today is exceptionally brave,” Lord Hordak said. “I cannot say I would do the same myself. I thank you for your service.”

“I thought you didn’t care about us,” Kyle said. “We’re just your cannon fodder.”

“Indeed,” Hordak responded. “That is why I thank you for such service. It is not the heroes of a war who are the noblest. It is not the Princesses in their shining towers, rich, spoon-fed children who play at being warriors, nor is it men such as I, gifted with not only leadership but exceptional power. No, it is the cannon fodder, the laborers, who are the noblest of any war. They are too rarely remembered when one considers that which the war costs them.”

Lord Hordak turned back to him, the red glare of his mask shining across the room as the guards squirmed on the floor. They would survive, of course; he was no fool. Unnecessary slaughter was not Lord Hordak’s method.

“Are you prepared for what you will do?”

“No,” Kyle answered honestly.

The elevator’s white doors opened.

“That is quite alright,” he said. “We are rarely prepared for what we must do. It cannot be permitted to prevent us from doing it.”

Lord Hordak had given Kyle an impossible task. He was never a soldier. He didn’t belong in the Horde. He belonged in the Hegemony, where the world was safe for men like him.

Safety. That was all that he asked. As he and Lord Hordak stepped into the elevator, he knew he would never receive that.

Lonnie and Rogelio loved him. He knew that. Love was an abstract concept, though; love didn’t make up for their mistreatment of him. Love didn’t compensate for years spent in a world which didn’t know how to deal with him. For a moment, Kyle had a microcosm of knowing what it was like to be one of the two, and on some level, he knew that quite well. His life in the Horde was so similar in nature to the life Lonnie and Rogelio would have in the Hegemony.

Some people were not built for a life like the one experienced in the Horde. Kyle had never known a choice. He had never known a sky which was not blocked out by a massive red barrier. Never had he known safety, and never would he, unless he made a fateful choice. Even then, he would be a pretender there as much as he was in the Horde.

Kyle wanted art.

He wanted to see shining halls, to attend a play at a theater. He wanted to learn to read, not to read files, but to read for readings’ sake. Kyle wanted to live a life beset not by a massive empire, but by a small rebellion. He wanted to look at galleries of paintings.

Lonnie would call him entitled for aspiring to more. Rogelio would hold him tight and ask if he was alright. Lord Hordak himself, if asked, would imprison him. Why was it that Kyle was placed in such a situation?

He looked at his hands, and closed them with resolve. He wanted to see the view from the top of the citadel of Bright Moon. He wanted to fear only the wrath of the her divinity the Empress, not to fear starvation or the peril of Lord Hordak. He never wanted to hear the voice of Shadow Weaver once more, and least of all did he want to see the face of Lord Hordak.

There were losses to be had in that, but there were losses to be had in everything. His face was one of stone at last. With silent fury, he rendered his heart the same. He would need to do so for that which followed.

His thoughts drifted no more to Lonnie and Rogelio as Lord Hordak turned on communications once more with a tap of his mask.

“How fares the mission?”

Countless floors below, Lonnie tapped her own mask. “We’re in,” she said. “It’s unguarded. It seems whatever your crazy plan was, it worked.”

Then, the comms ceased again. Lonnie growled, and Rogelio shrugged. Lighting up his taser, he saw a darkened mess of crates. Gray crates, their tops frosted over. Lonnie removed her mask, and set it down on one. Immediately, she regretted that decision, and put it back on. It was absurdly cold down there, the only recompense for the chilling temperature their Horde-provided gear. Lonnie supposed she would acknowledge that, of the things he did for them, that was among Lord Hordak’s best.

“So,” she said, her taser crackling. “I guess we’d better set these on fire.”

Rogelio held up a single finger, and quietly opened one of the crates, removing its frosted lid with his hands, clad in black gloves which Lord Hordak had supplied alongside the coats. Their tasers crackled as though torches in a tomb.

Rogelio’s eyes widened. There wasn’t just supplies down here. Every crate was packed with hundreds of foods, frozen vegetables and fruits of all sorts. Even more importantly, it was merely one crate. It could feed the Fright Zone for years. Lonnie and Rogelio shared a glance, and gave one another a nod. They were going to take as many crates as they could back. The Horde would eat well.

Rogelio opened a crate, and found meats packed in perfect stasis. Lonnie opened another, labeled “Gifts from Princess G,” and found dozens of baked goods. Alongside that was a picture which, when lit by a crackling taser, showed the Princess of Bright Moon, bratty thing she was, frowning as she stood before a plate of freshly-baked cookies, her mother’s hand on her shoulder.

Lonnie clenched her fist. This girl got to live her entire life knowing not only a mother, but a _royal_ mother. The Empress of the entire Hegemony. Tapping a button on the side, Rogelio let out a shocked gasp as one of the crates rose into the air, hovering, its underside glowing a dim pink on the gray floor.

“We’re taking all of these,” she said.

Rogelio gave her a smile. Lonnie tapped her comms, only to find that Lord Hordak wasn’t responding. Of course not. She wasn’t going to wait for orders. They were going to fill that transport with as many crates as possible, and take every single morsel of food back to the Horde. Finally, this mission was looking up.

Loading two rectangular crates into the lift, Lonnie pressed the button. The two ascended up dozens of floors. Above them, there was a slight beeping sound. Two doors opened on the top floor of the tower, and from it emerged Lord Hordak, followed by Kyle.

“Down!” Lord Hordak exclaimed.

A blast of pink energy spelled what Kyle thought his end. However, a metal arm reached out in front of the scrawny cadet. Pink and red clashed and swirled, before each dissolves in midair. “I said _down_ ,” Lord Hordak snarled.

Four mages stood across the room. One, the left-most of them, formed in their hands a fireball. The one next to them formed a blast of lightning. Next among them formed a sphere of ice. The final one, on the right, had pure, concussive energy. The power radiating from the guards, and Lord Hordak stood, his body cool and irrefutably calm.

“Surrender!” the mage on the left exclaimed.

“First Ones,” the one on the right said. “That’s Lord Hordak himself.”

Lord Hordak remained silent, examining his own hand.

“What’re you doing?” Kyle asked.

Lord Hordak moved his body to the side effortlessly, leaving the icy sphere shattering against the closed lift doors. It flew an inch away from Kyle’s ear; if he had been in the wrong place, it would have struck him on the forehead and knocked him unconscious. Then again, as he lit up the taser, he supposed that wouldn’t play into the plan.

Next came the fire; Lord Hordak tilted his head, and it flew past, striking the wall behind him. Again, Kyle realized just how precarious the situation was. Lord Hordak then looked to the lightning, and gritted his teeth.

Sure enough, the lightning struck him. His body twitched, his form convulsing as he felt it strike him. For a few seconds, his mechanical arm was dead weight, his power crystal going completely dull. He took a step forth, yet he was no longer of the same state he had reached before. His palm-mounted cannons were completely disabled.

“ _That_...” he muttered. “That was an error.”

“Why?” the mage with the concussive energy asked. “Now we’ve got you?”

“No,” Lord Hordak said. “You’ve forced me to get close to you. It will be much more unpleasant than you would presume.”

Kyle could only watch as he lunged like an animal. Barely lifting his mechanical arm in time, he batted the energy blast back into the mage who fired it. Another went for their weapon, a curved, golden-bladed sword, just as Lord Hordak’s power crystal began glowing again. That was a mistake. With a massive increase in speed, he grabbed their blade as it swung toward his face. With a mere pull, he snapped it in half. The overlord grabbed the guard by the collar, and hurled them into the wall. The next managed to fire a weak blast of energy, which shattered the visor of Hordak’s mask, staggering the man who approached.

A sigh of misty breath. It was then that Kyle saw Lord Hordak’s face. The same face which they had sensed before. With a delighted snarl emerging from his throat, he grabbed the mage by the arm with his own mechanical limb. Three concussive blasts later, the mage’s face was bloodied, Hordak’s arm covered in specks of red.

“What the hell, Lord Hordak?” Kyle asked. “You’ve been able to do that this whole time?”

“It seems I underestimated my strength,” Hordak said with a chuckle.

The mages were scattered around the room. Quietly, Lord Hordak pressed his left hand to a terminal on the right side of the room. Only now did Kyle get a feel for the setting of the brutal battle; it was a round room, a single terminal on the right side. There was a doorway outside, which led to a stairway. Lord Hordak, with his right hand, picked up his filtration mask. Its visor was shattered, which caused him no end of visible frustration. Never once, however, did he lose his tranquil demeanor.

Then, Kyle saw it. A hand twitching. Fingers sparking with electricity. It seemed the mage, barely conscious, thought that it would work again had it worked once. Lighting up his taser, Kyle plunged it to the mage’s neck. They experienced a taste of their own medicine as their own sparks of lightning were absorbed into their skin. They writhed on the floor for a few seconds, and at last ceased writhing, instead squirming.

Lord Hordak closed his eyes.

Then, he opened them. There was a grimace on his face, more like the Hordak Kyle had known and not the animal who had taken to the battlefield today. The warlord turned to the cadet, and growled.

“We are ready,” he said. “For the final step of the plan. I will proceed to the top of the comms tower.”

“You sure about this?” Kyle asked. “I can’t say it’s a good idea.”

“Kyle,” Lord Hordak said. “You are braver than they will ever know. You are perhaps bravest among us. You are weak, pitiful almost, thin, unfit to go into battle. Yet, in spite of all that, you do it anyways. I will not call you foolish, for you do not lack for intelligence. That means you must be brave. Now, we will ascend. Follow me in ten minutes. I will secure the top, and I will begin my broadcast to Bright Moon.”

“What’re you gonna say?” Kyle asked.

“I am going to tell them what they should have always known. That they are fools. You must remember that I will need assistance.”

The cadet’s stomach churned. He knew what he was going to do. Lord Hordak would hate him for it. Still, letting the taser drift to the side, he wondered how Lonnie and Rogelio would feel about him being the star of the show. As Lord Hordak exited onto the stairway, Kyle could hear him calling for the two.

The two, meanwhile, were on their sixth crate, just outside the frozen lake. They had secured six total, including the baked goods. They were pretty sure they’d come home with the entire supply room. The front seat had room for two people. Presumably, Kyle and Lord Hordak would want to sit up there. Rogelio had agreed to use the little remaining space in the back, which left Lonnie to figure out a way to make room. Perhaps she would ride a crate all the way home?

It was then that Lonnie heard a ping in her ear. Lord Hordak had contacted them again. Rogelio looked to her.

“Have you two burned the supplies?” he asked.

“Lord Hordak!” Lonnie exclaimed. “Good news. The supplies are food, and we’re taking them back?”

The sound of laser fire, then of a breaking bone. Then came vicious screaming, and a mage flew from the tower into the lake. Lord Hordak audibly growled as though a wild wolf. “Save that man before he freezes to death in the lake!” he ordered. “Take no more of their supplies. We will neglect to burn the rest.”

Rogelio rushed over, and dug the guard out of the lake. His white robes were soaking wet, and he shivered, his teeth chattering. Stumbling, he lit a flame in his hand. Warming up, he then saw his saviors. With seconds to spare, he went for a blade, his body bruised and his movements slow. Rogelio took the weapon effortlessly, tossing it into the lake. Lonnie swept the guard’s leg out from below them.

“Get up here,” Hordak commanded. “I will deal with your actions when we are _done here_.”

Then, there was another scream, and another mage flew into the lake.

“Get him too.”

Kyle stumbled around awkwardly as Lord Hordak unleashed a blast onto the last of the guards atop the tower. He crumpled as though folded paper, and Lord Hordak calmly walked up to him. Another blast knocked him completely unconscious.

“I have secured the comms tower,” he said. “Kyle! I did not want you up here!”

“Yeah…” Kyle said, his voice trailing off as the wind whistled.

So, it seemed this was quite the fateful day.

Atop the tower was a resplendent crystal ball, reflecting the entire world. It was in all variety of colors, from vibrant pink to the dullest black. It was Etheria within the form of a crystalline sphere. Kyle’s initial temptation was to reach out. Instead, he took his place behind Lord Hordak. The Lord of the Fright Zone held up a hand.

“I am waiting until your fellow cadets get up here. I hope it is not too soon. This kingdom is _very cold_.”

“About that,” Kyle muttered. “How are you so unaffected? I mean, that guy broke your mask.”

“My species has adaptive biology. We are designed to function at any temperature.”

“Designed?” Kyle asked.

“When are they going to get up here?” Lord Hordak asked.

As though on cue, the door opened. Lonnie and Rogelio rushed through. “Excellent,” Lord Hordak said. “You stand across from the crystal ball, on the edge of the platform.”

Not questioning him, so as to avoid risking his ire further, the two obeyed. Kyle still stood behind the man. The man who had spent his entire life forcing him into service. This was the man who had taken him as a child. If only one of the Princesses could have found him! If only he could have been raised in the Hegemony.

It was no longer a matter of “if only.” No, now he was prepared. He would need to make it his best moment. If he was going to be anything other than a slave in the Hegemony, he would need to make it visible, eccentric. There had to be a level of showmanship to it. He knew that quite well.

Lord Hordak pressed a hand to the crystal ball, and spun it. At last, he stood. A display of the entire planet, caught in a starless space, lonely and purposeless, was present for a few seconds, before shifting to the comms tower of Bright Moon, where his image now projected. He smiled cruelly as he raised his fist to his face. An expression of dominance and superiority, undeniable and powerful.

“People of Bright Moon!” he bellowed. “I am Lord Hordak. You have heard of me. Of course you have. I am the one who haunts the nightmare of every child. I am Lord of the Fright Zone, a title I claimed from the ruling monarchy of its previous rulers. I am the kingslayer, the warlord feared by all across Etheria, even my own soldiers, who cower before me. I am the doom of Etheria’s supposed ‘heroes,’ all done in the goal of taking the throne of Empress Angella. There are rumors that I have grown weak, that my power now pales in comparison to the ‘invincible’ She-Ra.”

Kyle gripped his taser too tightly. In spite of the heat, a drop of sweat rolled down his masked face. Lonnie and Rogelio merely looked at him with incredible surprise and confusion.

“Now, you shall cry, Etheria! For your end draws near, beginning with the Kingdom of Snows, but rest assured, when I dominate your world, and I _will_ dominate your world, you shall all be treated fairly. None shall be enslaved or butchered without trial, not even the pathetic Princesses and not even the She-Ra! When my dread legions, the technological terrors I have so proudly constructed, destroy the gates of Bright Moon, and when the city burns before me, I shall stand above the destruction with a merciful hand! All creatures, no matter how small, have a place in my empire. _Now, I_ \--”

He was cut off, convulsing, electricity running across his body. Lonnie reached out, but Lord Hordak held out a hand. Turning around, he limply threw a punch at Kyle. Ducking below his right fist, Kyle returned the blow. A single, decisive strike send Hordak stumbling. Lord Hordak gritted his teeth, and reached out, before he fell from the comms tower. Lonnie and Rogelio had the same thought, rushing to the edge. They stared as Lord Hordak made his way to the surface, soaked and looking absolutely _pissed_.

“ _Kyle_!” Lonnie exclaimed. “What the hell?”

“What the _hell_?” Kyle responded, turning to them, seething. “I lived nineteen years in a hell called the Fright Zone! Industrialist, loud! I never got to feel proud! I never got to feel _safe_! That’s been a long time coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” Kyle asked, laughing madly. “Is this a joke? Do I actually need to explain this? You two should know! You spend every second of my life with me. We eat together, shower together, sleep together! Every day, though, every day you abuse me!”

Lonnie’s eyes widened. Yes, he was right. She had gone too far in the way she had treated him, that was certain. However, it didn’t mean he turned traitor.

“Catra disobeyed orders, stole my data pad, _my_ information, and what did she do? She got rewarded for it! That’s what the Horde _is_! You’re all monsters, who live dangerous lives. The only reason to stay in the Etherian Horde is if you’re a power-hungry schemer, or if you won’t be accepted by the Hegemony. I’m neither of those.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” Lonnie said.

“Will you?” Kyle asked, smirking with all the charm of a barely-caged beast. “Or will you turn around and leave before Lord Hordak has you both sent to Beast Island for insubordination?”

Kyle tapped the crystal ball, and his image dissolved. Lonnie and Rogelio looked at him. There was a temptation to slip, to run back into their arms. No. Then, he’d never achieve that which he desired. No art, no comfort, no luxury. Just a return to the squalid Fright Zone to be treated as though he was the pollution, not the smog running into the sky every night and day!

“You’d think you’d be proud of me!” he exclaimed, almost petulantly. “I finally grew a spine. We’re done here. Go get your little overlord.”

“Why?” Lonnie asked.

“That answer should be obvious,” Kyle retorted.

The two departed, leaving Kyle alone. A shift change would come. The Kingdom of Snows would retrieve him, and he would demand to see Bright Moon. If he was correct, Adora would be overjoyed to see him. Maybe he’d feel safe there, safe at last.

When the lift reached the bottom, Lonnie and Rogelio saw Lord Hordak, waiting for them. His blue hair was soaking wet, some white peeking through. Perhaps he was getting old? No, that couldn’t be it. He looked between the two.

“He punched me,” he said with a smile. “Unexpected. He truly was brave.”

“Are we gonna go up there and drag him back?”

“No,” Lord Hordak said. “We have jeopardized the mission enough. He is but one man, but one traitor.”

“Why would he do that?” Lonnie asked.

“Look to me, of course, but also to Shadow Weaver, and also to yourselves. You treated Kyle so poorly through the years. It is an inevitability that, after being mistreated for years, any would desire to overthrow their friends and their brethren.”

“I…”

“Don’t dwell on it. Get in the transport. Rogelio, can you drive?”

Rogelio nodded.

“Good.”

By the time they were back in the transport, Hordak had his hands clasped over his mouth. Lonnie removed her mask, and the doors closed. The two were packed in alongside the six shipping crates retrieved.

“So, I guess we botched that one,” Lonnie said.

“Nonsense,” responded Lord Hordak. “Despite Kyle’s betrayal, and your own _reasonable_ insubordination, we have achieved the purpose of our mission.”

“All respect due, Lord Hordak, what was the point of a plan where we go to a comms tower, don’t destroy the comms, risk our lives, and burn some food?”

“I wanted to anger the Empress,” Hordak said.

“That’s really petty.”

“Oh, no, I did not do it solely to anger the Empress, although even I cannot deny the fact that such a thing is a beautiful bonus. The purpose of this mission was three-fold; firstly, I wanted to test my prowess in battle, and I must say it is invigorating to once more serve on the field. Second, I desired to turn the Hegemony’s eyes to the Kingdom of Snows, which is furthest from the other kingdoms. They will look upon this place and its sacked comms tower and believe that we are preparing to invade. They will be bewildered by our boldness, but presume that I merely got egotistical, while my plans are entirely different. Lastly, it would test your loyalty. I have been weeding out traitors as of late, Lonnie; Kyle was not yet a traitor, but it was an inevitability that he would be. I have merely set him on that path now, instead of letting him rise through the ranks before his defection.”

“That’s not a bad plan,” Lonnie sheepishly admitted.

Deep down, she still couldn’t believe Kyle was gone. He had betrayed them and left. What could she have done differently? What could have kept her boyfriend there? Was it the bullying, the harassment, the jokes at his expense? He always had been sensitive, and she had mistaken that sensitivity for weakness. Was Kyle merely a treacherous person the entire time?

“You will debrief with Force Captain Catra,” Hordak said. “I must make some adjustments. I believe, if I must engage in melee combat, which I must admit my profound hatred of, I should arm myself for the occasion.”

“How many people did you take out?” Lonnie asked.

“Around ninety,” Hordak said.

Lonnie stared in awe.

“I have substantial martial prowess,” the overlord stated.

“I believe you,” Lonnie responded.

Still, even as she joked, she wondered about Kyle, alone on that tower. Some part of her hoped the Hegemony would come for him, that he would defect to the Hegemony. Even as Lord Hordak gave her his own manner of debriefing, she was first from the transport the moment it reached the Fright Zone. She rushed to the locker rooms, where she was told Catra would be. She spared a glance at Kyle’s locker, covered in stickers, beautifully-drawn representations of herself and Rogelio. She gulped deeply, and then looked to Catra.

“Where’s Kyle?” Catra asked as Rogelio entered. “He made it, right?”

“Kyle defected,” Lonnie said coldly, opening her locker and unzipping her coat.

The two looked at one another. Lonnie stared into Catra’s mismatched eyes, and the two met a sort of understanding. Neither of them had been truly good to the person they loved; Lonnie had not been quite the fiend Catra was, of course, but her treatment of Kyle was more than a little lacking. In that silent understanding, Catra approached without caution or fear. There was something on her face that Lonnie had never seen before. It initially seemed to be pity, but Lonnie realized after a few seconds, and a clawed hand placed gently upon her shoulder, that this was empathy.

Rogelio wrapped the two of them in a hug.

Kyle was gone. Off to his shining city, where he would get everything he’d always wanted. How had he learned to draw in the Fright Zone, much less in such incredible fashion? Lonnie squeezed her eyes shut. Tears would not fall today.

Kyle was gone. It was his choice. There was no getting him back.

**~Hegemony~**

The Empress was _fuming_. The head chef was delighted by this turn of events when they had passed by. The drama which unfolded from seeing the Empress, ruler of all Etheria, stomping around the council chamber as though she were a spoiled child, was exceptionally intriguing to them.

The Princesses were all attending. Most of them, however, merely had themselves projected through communicative magical spheres. They could fully interact with the meeting, but they were not physically present. That left only Glimmer, Bow, and Adora, all of whom were squirming somewhat in their seats.

“I dispatched a transport to get the defector,” Glimmer said.

Angella raised a finger. “How is it,” she asked, “that we have been _humiliated_ like this? Princess Frosta, the Kingdom of Snows is your domain!”

Frosta shook with visible fear. “Your divinity, I had no idea of this.”

“If you cannot do your job, I will do it for you!” Angella hissed in a hushed tone. “You are stripped of all titles.”

“You can’t do that!” Mermista shouted.

“I am Empress. You are my vassals. You bear loyalty to _me_. I can do whatever I _please_ , unless you intend to raise the flag of Snows in rebellion. Do you intend that, Frosta?”

Frosta stood. “Maybe I d--”

The guards crossed their spears by her neck.

“No, your divinity,” she said, kneeling. “I will do nothing of the sort.”

“No,” Angella said, scratching her temple and thrashing about wildly. “You will not. Even the threat of rebellion is sufficient to me. Send her to Beast Island!”

“ _What_?” exclaimed everyone else.

Bow had slammed the table. Adora had never seen his composure break in that manner before. His fists were clenched, his eyes flickering around the room. Mermista, who had been lounging on her throne, had fallen on to the steps in a panic. Princess Glimmer had her arms crossed, silently angered. Adora herself was stumbling over words.

Then the Empress raised a hand. Complete silence.

“Frosta is like you. She is one of my children, as is every other one among you in this room. Except Bow.”

“Why am I being singled out here?” Bow asked.

“Children?” Netossa exclaimed.

“Calm yourselves,” the Empress said. “When a child is in error, they must be disciplined. In the case of Frosta, she is too hot-blooded and impulsive to rule a kingdom.”

“She’s a _very literal child_ ,” Netossa interrupted. “You’re going to sentence a kid to a violent death on Beast Island?”

The Empress took a breath. Despite her beautiful, flawless visage, her anger was apparent in her eyes. At last, she stopped.

“No,” she said. “No, I will not send Princess Frosta to die on Beast Island. I will not even strip her titles. I will give her a final chance.”

They all sat down, all except Bow. Bow’s discomfort remained visible, and he paced around the room. The Empress continued to twitch and fidget, not in a state of anxiety or nervousness but of pure, indignant rage.

“One _final_ chance to keep your crown and throne, Princess Frosta. If they intend to attack the Kingdom of Snows, I want you to bring Lord Hordak in. I will supply you with half of every kingdom’s army.”

Bow slammed the table again. The Empress’s gaze snapped to him. He clenched his jaw, his breaths shaky.

“That is extremely inadvisable, Empress,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “We’re being baited, and even if we’re not, that’s way too much military power to devote to one kingdom!”

“ _Silence_!” demanded the Empress.

So silence there was.

“We just watched a young Horde cadet defeat Lord Hordak with a single blow. If none of my Princesses, my best warriors, literal rulers of kingdoms granted power through the blood in their veins, can capture him, then you are of little worth to me. You are all my children, so it seems I shall have to be a guiding hand and express my utter _disappointment_ in every last one of you.”

With that, she exited the room completely, off to her own devices. Bow sighed, tapping his fingers along the edge of the circular table. Princess Frosta was on her throne, her eyes darting around in horror. She had been mere moments from complete exile for no misdeed whatsoever, and only barely had she been saved from it. Now, she could hardly even speak. Battle, she had contended with countless times; she was a formidable warrior, yet if the Empress had so dictated it there would have been nothing she could do. There were not enough who would defy her decrees.

“What was that?” Adora asked. The entire room seemed uncomfortable.

“Lord Hordak mentioned being a ‘kingslayer’ in that message,” Glimmer said. “There’s no way that wasn’t specifically aimed at her. A taunt over the fact he killed Micah, designed specifically to infuriate her. She’ll be fine in four minutes, although she’s probably going to commission a _lot_ of paintings. Trust me, I’ve seen her do this a lot.”

“Yeah,” Netossa said. “Spinny, did we get rid of that painting?”

“No!” Spinnerella exclaimed from another room, her voice quieted by distance.

“We should,” Netossa said.

They looked throughout the council chamber. Outside the door, they heard her shrieking about how he was the first casualty of the Horde. Setting aside how implausible that was, the Hegemonic Council quickly advanced to more pressing matters.

“So,” Bow said. “How’s everyone’s day been? Besides that little intrusion.”

“It’s been good,” Mermista said. “We’ve been watching the Sea Wall. It’s boring. Nobody ever attacks it. I suppose I should be thankful, but still, I wanna fight something. I haven’t gotten to use my powers for more than five minutes in years.”

Perfuma clasped her hands, and signed something, her hands at her shoulders, pointing outward. Then, she raised her middle finger. That was a universally-recognized sign.

“I _heard that_!” the Empress yelled, perhaps at some random servant. “You! Exiled! Get out!”

Adora’s head swiveled between the Hegemonic Council. Frosta still had terror on her face, still coping with recent events. Glimmer looked somewhat disturbed, albeit seemingly relieved that the Empress had not focused on her this time. Bow, on the other hand, was continuing to type away on a data pad, paying no attention to the events outside. It seemed he was not unaccustomed to these incidents.

“I don’t care where you’re exiled to!” the Empress shouted, sound muffled by the door. “I’m exiling you to _somewhere_! No, do not _sass_ me, T’ermoil, I am the _rightful ruler of Etheria_!”

That got Bow to look up with some caution. Indeed, if she were attempting to dispose of the head chef, then there was a problem. Glimmer rose from her seat, but Bow cautioned her to sit down. “It’ll blow over,” he said quietly.

“Fine,” the Empress said. “You get to keep your job.”

Bow had a look on his face which indicated that he had told them of such a thing. Still, his hands were visibly shaking a little. None escaped the shadow which was cast upon them by the Empress.

“See, this is why I waited to tell her about the bat problem,” Glimmer said.

“We don’t have a bat problem,” Bow responded.

“What?” Glimmer asked. “Then why was there a bat outside my chambers?”

“Probably a stray animal,” Adora said, although she had her suspicions it was nothing of the sort.

“So,” Bow said. “Given all my calculations, I have--”

“ _Todd_!” the Empress yelled. “You have botched my haircut for the last time!”

“I thought you said she’d be done with this,” Adora said.

“Look, sometimes it goes on for a while,” Glimmer admitted. “She’s not gonna exile Todd.”

The snapping of fingers, and a burst of sound resemblant to thunder. Bow’s eyes widened, and his and Glimmer’s met. While Adora couldn’t help but be disturbed by whatever had happened, she was unsure what exactly it was.

“Okay,” Bow said. “I have to go check and make sure the Empress didn’t just atomize her barber. She really likes Todd’s work, she’d be extremely upset if she killed him after she spent so much time abducting him.”

Bow exited the room, and one by one the crystal balls faded completely. By the end of it, behind closed doors there were only two people. Glimmer and Adora. Princess and She-Ra, each heirs to the Hegemony in their own right; Glimmer was by blood the heir, Adora by choice of the Empress. She assumed such, at the very least.

“So,” Adora said. “That’s what you’ve dealt with your entire life?”

“Yeah,” the sparkling Princess said quietly. “Well, not my entire life. When I was first born, she wasn’t like that. She was happy. Then the Horde killed Micah. She changed after that. Despite what people say, she was never that evil before.”

“How has someone not already overthrown her?”

“We spent eight years thinking we were completely immune to her wrath,” Glimmer said. “Then, Perfuma didn’t say what she wanted. In exchange, Angella took her voice away completely, and kept it hidden away. She toys with the idea of giving it back, but never does. The message was clear that day. We’re in danger. Just like everyone else.”

“So, you thought you were immune and just gave up? Let your people suffer?”

“The people aren’t suffering,” Glimmer said. “They’re living good lives.”

“What about the ones in the mines?” Adora asked.

“They’re not our people,” the Princess responded. “They’re criminals.”

“So that gives you the right to enslave them?”

“If you disagreed with it, you could’ve stayed with the Horde,” Glimmer responded.

Adora supposed that wasn’t entirely untrue. Still, as she sat at the table, she couldn’t help but wonder how Princess Glimmer would look run through with the Sword of Power. Suppressing the thought, she shivered at the realization she’d had it at all. Never before had she been afflicted like this, plagued by thoughts of gruesome violence.

“I suppose I could’ve,” Adora said. “I don’t know how to put it. It felt wrong.”

“I get that,” Glimmer said. “You’ve got that look in your eye. A look that’s a lot like mine.”

“Ambition?” Adora asked.

Glimmer laughed slightly. “I was going to say ‘barely concealed violent impulses’ or ‘hatred,’ actually.”

“Not inaccurate,” Adora admitted. “Do you get the kind of visions I do?”

“Yeah,” Glimmer said. “Wait, you mean the ones of the Empress dying?”

“Well, not just the Empress,” Adora said.

“What do you mean?” Glimmer asked.

“I don’t get it,” Adora said. “Ever since I got the Sword, I’ve seen things. Violence. Death. I don’t understand it.”

She looked at her hands. What had she done? She had to go back. She had to go back to the Horde; sure, it would be miserable. She would come back a traitor, punished by Lord Hordak for her actions. Catra would never trust her again, although Catra had no right to speak on the matter of trust. Still, every second she remained with the Hegemony, her hands were stained with more and more blood.

She could see a red dawn.

Adora could see a horizon stained with blood. She excused herself from the room without a word, stumbling out into the hall. The golden halls, she saw torn apart by brutality, scratches along the wall. She watched the city burn. Every servant which passed was stained in blood, every geodite shattered into countless pieces. As she stumbled along, she watched the world, her new world, the one she had chosen, shifted to the old world, the one she had once lived in. The Fright Zone was lit before her in lights of shrill pink and nightmarish blues, its every door broken and its every citizen carted away in chains.

Lonnie and Rogelio were beaten, bruised, bloodied on the ground. In the distance, she saw Lord Hordak’s citadel slashed in half by shining gold. The Empress knelt before her as she saw the overlord of the Horde, a man once so powerful, gasp out his last breath, blood of green and red alike staining his form. He froze as though a gruesome tableau for a few moments, and then he fell completely, dropping down the stairs without dignity.

“I don’t want this,” she said as the swirl of nightmarish imagery overtook her. “I’ve never wanted this.”

“Deep down, you always did,” spoke a voice akin to rattling bones. “You hated this place. You’ve always hated it. You knew you deserved better. You hate Lord Hordak. You hate Shadow Weaver. You hate _Catra_.”

Down the stairs, past the body of Lord Hordak, stepped a man cloaked entirely in blue; it was not merely his hooded robe that was blue, but his flesh as well. He had fangs like those of Lord Hordak, and a pointed beard down the bottom of his face. He walked through the flame with a smile, a genuine smile wide upon his face. His grin was not a false one. No, this carnage brought him joy. With a stomp that Adora could not gaze upon, he crushed the head of the Horde’s overlord.

“You were gifted the power of Miro,” he said. “You have the blood of my people. The divine right to conquer. Why do you not use it? Why keep our blade flat when its lethal edge is so much more effective? Your power only grows every second, She-Ra.”

Adora breathed in. This was a hallucination, she reminded herself. This was merely the result of an imbalance. If she handled herself, she could come out of this with more information; this was not a hallucination brought about by madness, but by magic. A vision. That, she was quite sure of. If Glimmer received similar visions, then she was perhaps like Adora.

“I don’t use it because it’s not right,” she said. “I don’t kill people. I’m not a murderer.”

“That is what your predecessor said as well,” the man said, lowering his hood.

There was an incredibly handsome visage beneath the hood, a demeanor almost princely and a cruel smile, which faded. His hair was black as night, his flesh blue and his robe flowing majestically behind him. In his left hand did he carry a golden blade, the Sword of Power in all certainty. However, it was of a greater power, one which Adora could feel radiating. In his right hand, he carried a staff with a skull upon its head.

“The First Ones granted you this gift,” he said. “Now, do as we command with it! Prostrate yourself, and bring my wrath to a new world.”

“I’ll never become a murderer,” Adora said. “I’ll never kneel to you.”

“Yes, you will!” declared the princely figure. “You will, or I shall wreak unforgettable harm upon you. I shall be merciful only if Etheria, the living planet of magic, is conquered for me without hope of resistance. The end is coming, and there is no going back. If I cannot rule Etheria, I shall slay it.”

“Who are you?”

“The only being without delusions of heroism,” was his only reply.

“Will you spare Catra?” Adora asked.

Why was it that her thoughts turned now to Catra? She knew how Catra had mistreated her, yet she could not bear the thought of Catra dying at such a cruel hand. She wanted to see Catra grow old. She could not parse her own thoughts from the visions which the Sword had given her; she would hold the thief tight in one moment, and dismember her in another. One moment love, the next pure hatred. It was an overwhelming storm of fury and mixed emotion, a tempest which led Adora to her knees.

“I assure you,” he said. “She will not perish.”

“Then I swear to you my allegiance.”

“Good,” he said. “Good.”

He approached, and ran a hand through her dirty blonde hair. She felt her entire body shake as she looked up, seeing him smile. His hands were like those of a corpse, cold and clammy. It was like he was merely a dead body, wearing the illusory flesh of a man.

“Find Light Hope,” he said. “She will have your answers.”

With that, she was on the floor of the palace. A window beside her was smashed, broken glass near her. Above her was Glimmer.

“Are you okay?” the Princess asked, extending a hand.

“Yeah,” Adora said, lying through her teeth.

“You passed out after transforming into She-Ra and punching a window.”

“I think the Empress rubbed off on me,” Adora said with a chuckle.

“No kidding,” Glimmer responded.

“Light Hope,” Adora said suddenly.

“What about her?” Glimmer asked.

So, that answered that question, at the very least. Who was Light Hope? Perhaps a mage, or a wizard? No, that could not be right.

“Who is she?” Adora asked.

“How do you know that name?” Glimmer responded.

“The Sword told me,” Adora said.

“The Sword talks to you?”

“Sometimes. It’s complicated.”

Glimmer raised a finger, and, after a few moments of thinking, casually accepted the point. The two locked eyes for a few minutes, and Adora recalled that this woman was an obstacle, as was Bow. Adora’s place was upon the throne of the Hegemony.

Something so strange had occurred, the vision, yet now Adora inexplicably grew content. At times, it seemed as though she was no longer in control of her own actions, nor even her own feelings. It was like she was a puppet, a long-dead hand pulling on her strings and toying with her mind. Still, despite her entire body and mind warning against it, she remained content.

“I need to see Light Hope,” Adora said.

“Okay, well, there’s a few things that are very complicated with that idea,” Glimmer said.

“What do you mean?” Adora asked.

“Follow me,” Glimmer said.

So, Adora followed her. The two wandered through the disorienting halls and architecture of the citadel until at last they arrived at a pair of massive double doors, bronzed and polished to the point of shining.

“What is this?” Adora asked.

“The royal library,” Glimmer said.

The doors opened, and Adora was greeted with the largest collection of books she had ever seen. Shelves stacked with thousands of years’ worth of texts were present, littering the shelves, perfectly organized. There had to be at least ten million books; it was a spectacle among spectacles, the pinnacle of the written word, collected all in one place.

“Courtesy of the First Ones,” Glimmer said. “This is every single book the Empress ever collected. She never reads them. Just puts them down here. Bow, on the other hand, makes routine use of it. Something about ‘defeating an enemy by knowing their art.’ He’s weird sometimes.”

“So, how does this lead me to Light Hope?”

“Yeah, so, here’s the deal. Nobody can activate Light Hope.”

“Activate?” Adora asked.

“So, here’s the problem. Light Hope is an artificial intelligence, or so it’s claimed. The issue is that the Empress couldn’t activate her. Mara, the She-Ra before you, broke her somehow. She’s constantly suppressed. She’s in the center of the room. Supposedly, nobody can awaken her.”

“Yeah, and supposedly, nobody could channel the power of the She-Ra.”

Answers. Adora wanted answers. She wanted to know the name of the man who had threatened her and offered aid simultaneously. She wanted to know why she was so often assailed by strange thoughts of brutality and intrusions of violence, when never in the Horde had she desired such things. Adora wanted answers.

Approaching the center, Adora saw a small computer terminal, silver and dusty. Wiping some dust from it, she felt an unknowable compulsion to press her hand to it. Upon doing so, she felt her very form interact with it. All her eyes could see was bright blue. Glimmer’s voice, rambling on, was drowned out. She could feel it coming to her, something incredible, the power of knowledge. Adora couldn’t help but smile, as she felt great relief. At last, she felt as though she were once more in control of herself; it was like two different beings, each inhabiting her body, merged into one. The visions faded, the compulsions gone.

Light Hope woke up.

Before Adora and Glimmer was a figure of splendorous angles, blue and gold. Glimmer gasped, backing away as she looked upon the figure. The woman known as Light Hope was a woman of countless edges, holographic in her beautiful entirety, her form accompanied by lines which Adora believed akin to circuitry. Glimmer looked upon the hologram as she approached, walking through the terminal like a ghost from beyond the afterlife. She flickered in and out of reality, before extending a jagged hand to Adora.

The wooden floor of the library, she glided across as though it were not there. The tables, chairs, books all around, she ignored them all. Kneeling before Adora, she took her hand. Kissing the back of it, she declared fervently, yet without a single word, her loyalty to the She-Ra and her cause, as she had always done.

“You must have been suffering without me,” Light Hope said. “May I ask your name?”

“Y-yeah,” Adora said. “I’m Adora. This is Glimmer.”

“Ah, Princess Glimmer, progeny of the Empress. I suppose some owe you loyalty as well.”

“Not you?” Glimmer asked.

“I have heard your thousands of speeches while alone in this library. I was at rest in my terminal, but I know everything you have said.”

Adora looked to Glimmer, who growled, sparkling angrily.

“I needed friends,” Glimmer said through gritted teeth.

“So, Light Hope, why do I feel, uh, better than I did before?”

Light Hope scanned Adora with her eyes. Then, she rose to her feet. She nodded.

“You were experiencing a negative effect due to a bad line of code. The first thing I did was repair the Sword of Power. You will no longer experience intrusive thoughts, nor you will experience unwanted physical alterations. In addition, you may tailor the attire of your form as She-Ra in whatever manner you desire.”

“So, in other words, I’m finally in control?”

“Yes,” Light Hope said. “Your power is now managed by you and you, solely. The code psychically linked you to a contact outside of this dimension, but it has been expunged.”

“So,” Glimmer said. “You woke up Light Hope. You’re full of surprises.”

“I am loyal solely to the She-Ra,” Light Hope said.

“Good,” Adora responded. “Glimmer, would you get Bow?”

“Why?” Glimmer asked, raising an eyebrow, her anger still hardly veiled.

“We have work to do,” Adora said.

Work to do indeed. Adora had made a promise. If she was going to save Etheria, there would be a cost. She had seen the slaughter that would come if she did not conquer Etheria, and if she did not present it to its new ruler.

The mysterious hooded man was coming, and he would come in fire. There was no resisting the inevitable tide of blood. It would take an iron fist. Etheria required its own conquering to defend it. She would bring terror, yet she stood the sole bastion of defense. Through that viciousness and violence, she would save countless lives.

She would be cruel, only to be kind.


	8. Obtainment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rose. A revelation. A resolution.

“You never understood. I wanted nothing more than to hold your hand. I never meant to betray you, but I did what had to be done. I had to turn on you. It’s not what I wanted. I hope that someday you can look me in the eyes and say you can forgive me.”

From the balcony of the Empress’s chambers came the words. They were spoken to an unsuspecting kingdom, one which did not know they were said. It was not the kingdom that had faced betrayal. It was the beloved of the one who had spoken the words, as they did what they thought best.

They spoke words of a time to come, not of past nor present. In their hand was a single red rose. They stared at it, its petals soon to wilt and the flower soon to be merely a thorned stalk. The world would go uncaring for this turn of events, yet the one who stood upon the balcony would care with utter certainty, and fervor, passion hitherto unheard of by the masses of Bright Moon; the shining city was silent in the midst of the night.

The flowers of this rose would wilt. It was not fair. It was never fair.

That was the goal of the one who spoke from the balcony, to stop their beloved’s petals from ever wilting, even as their own did.

No matter the cost.

**~Hegemony~**

“Kyle’s gone,” Scorpia murmured.

“Yeah,” Catra said, clearly still processing the information.

It was a rarity that someone actually left the Horde. Oh, it was an option all the time, but it wasn’t a _true_ option. Where would you go? The Fright Zone was your safe haven. The Hegemony would have you in the mines in a week. Part of Catra hoped they turned on Kyle just as quickly as he had turned on the Horde, but then, she supposed it was understandable. Kyle was just a young man who had felt as though none loved him whatsoever. He had wanted the life he knew of those dwelling in the Hegemony.

There was greed to it, but Catra reminded herself she had been near that decision not long ago. In fact, she would have been even worse than him. It was another reminder that the world was not a place of beauty. It was a dark, cynical place, and no matter the coloration of the Hegemony and the utopian aesthetic it portrayed, it was the same. Kyle would suffer for his betrayal. The question was whether he truly deserved that suffering.

“Honestly,” Shadow Weaver said. “I’m surprised he hadn’t left already. He was never fit for this. That said, I’m impressed with the fact the great Lord Hordak managed to get defeated by a cadet. In two shots, no less. Perhaps that armor is not what it seemed.”

Lord Hordak stood across the gray room, examining a series of holographic readings. He shot Shadow Weaver a momentary glare, then went back to it. He would return to the table eventually, Catra was sure. It was merely a matter of time. The readings, he looked upon with ease and scanned with a zealous grimace.

“Recall your place, Shadow Weaver,” he said.

“I know exactly my place,” she said. “The queen to your king. Scorpia plays the role of rook, Catra that of the bishop. Do not forget that the queen is the most powerful piece on the board.”

“A _queen_ can be replaced with any pawn, Shadow Weaver.”

“So now you say that I am disposable? You know me better than that.”

“Drop the metaphors,” Hordak commanded. “Speak your mind.”

“Oh, I have spoken my mind, Lord Hordak. You should stay in the Fright Zone. You are weak if Kyle can defeat you.”

Lord Hordak was clearly irked by this turn of events. His eyes flickered across the wall to graffiti of the Horde’s red emblem, and he shook his head. Turning, he returned to the table.

“We move our timetables up,” he said. “I miscalculated.”

“You miscalculated?” Catra asked. “When do you ever miscalculate?”

“Quite often,” Lord Hordak said. “It is simply that I typically have time to double and triple check my findings. I have already sent a force to our new target.”

“What’s our new target?” Catra asked.

“The Sea Wall,” Shadow Weaver said.

“Perceptive,” Lord Hordak responded.

“Okay, so you’ve gone insane,” Catra said. “The Sea Wall is protected by over a million geodites. The mages there are the best-trained in any place not called Mystacor. Salineas’s entire navy is inside that thing. It wraps around the entire ocean. Even if we took it, which we _can’t_ , we couldn’t even staff the entire thing, much less hold it for a day. We can’t blow it up, because that would kill people and violate the agreement. Going in and attacking the Sea Wall would get us captured.”

“Correct,” Lord Hordak said. “However, there is another method. We _are_ going to take the Sea Wall. However, we are not going to expend troops in an attack.”

“So, how do we do that?” Catra asked. “Because right now, you’re literally proposing we do something impossible.”

“Indeed, but there is more to it. For perhaps the first time in my long tenure as leader of the Etherian Horde, I owe something to Shadow Weaver when it comes to this plan. She came up with it, and it requires her powers.”

Catra hissed. First, she had to work with Shadow Weaver, and now Lord Hordak was giving her credit? Still, at the moment they were allies. No reason to go any further than a barbed remark and a quiet hiss.

“The geodites along the Sea Wall are powered by a central core by the Sea Gate,” said Shadow Weaver. Producing a map from within her cloak, she presented it.

“The Sea Gate, in Salineas?” Catra asked.

“The central core has a single error,” Shadow Weaver said. “It is easily corrupted. With a single spell, the spell of Conversion, I can turn every geodite on the Sea Wall to our side. No need to staff it when we have the entire thing taken by its own geodites.”

“Yeah,” Catra said. “I see a flaw in this plan. The Hegemony will send more geodites. Also, we can’t get in. _Also_ , did I mention we _can’t_ get in?”

“Whispers come from the Hegemony, Force Captain,” Lord Hordak said. “A rumor here and a rumor there. My most recent spy received word that, as I expected, the Empress is turning her attention to the Kingdom of Snows.”

Catra’s eyes widened. Whatever he had tried there, it had actually worked. She had honestly assumed it was a total failure, the food they stole notwithstanding. After all, he had been punched out by Kyle.

“Every kingdom’s force has been halved,” Hordak said. “They believe we are going to sack the entire Kingdom of Snows. Half of Salineas’s forces served at the Sea Wall, half within the kingdom itself. The Empress’s ill-advised transfers reduced the Sea Wall’s security to a mere quarter of what it once was. This leaves us with the greatest opportunity we have had in years.”

“Okay, but again, we can’t hold it,” Catra said.

“Holding the Sea Wall is not my goal. My _goal_ is to retrieve two specific prisoners during the brief period of time before they send more geodites, along with the information they may carry. Those being, of course, Force Captain Octavia and the pirate known as Admiral Scurvy.”

Shadow Weaver now spoke. “The man known only as ‘Admiral Scurvy’ is a known pirate who successfully plagued Salineas for years. He does not specifically serve our forces, but he has made it clear that he bears no love for the sea kingdom. He is a valuable asset, but unfortunately, he was captured two months ago, leaving absolutely no resistance on the seas. Rumor has it that the greatest duelist and sailor of the Hegemony, Captain Sea Hawk, defeated him in single combat in his capture. Be aware that Sea Hawk is at the Sea Wall for the next month, and will be a threat when we make our move.”

“Sea Hawk? A threat?” Catra asked.

Catra was perhaps more aware of the reputation of Sea Hawk than they were. He was infamous among the Horde for having botched every Hegemony operation he was in, typically by setting things on fire. He was a counterproductive person to have on any operation, notorious for theatrics and destructive conduct. If this Admiral Scurvy had lost to him, maybe he wasn’t worth saving. Of course, Catra kept that part to herself.

“He is a threat,” Lord Hordak said. “Any man with the skill he has is a threat, no matter their bluster.”

“Look, I’m not saying we’re not gonna have any trouble with him. It’s just that I would place more emphasis on advising me about the _Princess_ involved with this whole thing.”

“Fine,” Shadow Weaver said reluctantly. “Princess Mermista is snippy, rude, and all-around overconfident. She has a ridiculous level of power. Thus, I advise you permit _me_ to deal with her.”

“You?” Catra asked. “So you can steal her powers?”

Shadow Weaver stammered over her next few words.

“Very funny,” Catra said. “No. I want Lord Hordak to fight her. Because, first of all, I really want to see him fight a Princess, and second, I don’t trust you.”

“No,” Lord Hordak said quietly.

“You just got your armor back, though!” Catra said.

“Correct,” Hordak said. “I have tested it. I must tend to affairs here. Besides, I am not going to fight a Princess.”

“Aw, little Hordak, scared of a Princess,” Catra said. Shadow Weaver stifled a chuckle.

“The probability that any of us would beat a Princess in single combat is low. They each have their own weakness, but without access to that weakness, I could not even stand a chance.”

“What’s Mermista’s weakness?” Catra asked.

“In theory, electricity,” Hordak responded.

“So just zap her,” Catra said.

Lord Hordak looked to the side, gritting his teeth. “I will not subject her to that indignity,” he said.

Catra looked at him. There was something in his eyes. He was afraid. The young Force Captain could discern that. Through his strong and angry expression, she could see that there was fear, festering, tearing him limb from limb. Shadow Weaver examined him, seeking signs of weakness. Force Captain Scorpia was just confused.

“Why is that?” Catra asked.

“We move on,” Lord Hordak said. “ _Now_.”

Catra had to admit that wasn’t the response she suspected. Still, as she looked upon Lord Hordak, she wondered what it could possibly be that provoked this response. Still, she did as he commanded, and moved on.

“So, anyways, you’re not coming?”

“No,” Lord Hordak said. “I cannot come along. I have had a recent development with my spies in the Hegemony. I must continue to push them along the right path.”

“So _I_ will be leading the mission,” Shadow Weaver said.

“Damn it!” Catra exclaimed openly.

Shadow Weaver was visibly frustrated by this turn of events, which was what Catra was counting on. The trick with Shadow Weaver was to put her off her game, to ensure that she had no favor with Lord Hordak and her childish, irritable side was on full display. Her rage, she contained, yet it could crack and push against the edge of anything which kept it safe, concealed within a mask and a form full of injuries. No matter how someone like her contained that which lied within, it was her nature; it was that which she could not hide forever, no matter how she coated it. Shadow Weaver played the role of an eloquent and profound evil sorcerer, playing the role of a benevolent mentor while she played the role of false mother. The secret was that behind all the masks she wore, beneath the dozens of illusory surfaces she had made, Shadow Weaver was but a cruel, childish being who desired dominion and power.

“Listen closely,” Shadow Weaver said. “You are a troublesome brat, Force Captain.”

“A troublesome brat who _gets things done_ ,” Lord Hordak said. “I am of half a mind to promote Force Captain Catra, and have two Force Commanders, if solely to keep her from your command.”

“You would make such massive command decisions out of spite?” Shadow Weaver asked.

Lord Hordak growled. Shadow Weaver mockingly did the same. Lord Hordak silenced such thoughts with a simple stomp upon the floor.

“I do nothing out of spite, Shadow Weaver. Unlike you, Force Captain Catra has given me reason to act charitably toward her. You could easily be in the same position, had you chosen to be less imperious and insolent.”

“Catra is the _definition_ of insolence!” Shadow Weaver hissed.

“That may be,” responded Lord Hordak. “However, at the moment, I have been given little reason to believe she does not make up for the flaws you have caused her to have. I may be unobservant to the abuse my cadets are put through, but do not believe I am entirely ignorant of it. Force Captain Catra is imperfect, with certainty. Those imperfections are due to _your_ failure to properly raise her. All your constant punishments and cruelties have done is breed resentment and ambition in the child. Fortunately, the latter is something which conveniences me at the moment. The former, however, I could do with much less of.”

Shadow Weaver looked on. Catra had the same question as her. This was shocking eloquence from the warlord. Somehow, he had developed a sense of speech, of poeticism. That hadn’t been seen before.

“You two will be left to discuss this plan. I have no part in it, and other matters to attend to. Should you have disputes, you will solve them. If it should escalate to physical violence between the two of you, you will face severe punishment, Shadow Weaver.”

“Me?” Shadow Weaver asked. “Even if she strikes first?”

Catra suppressed a chortle.

“She would not strike if you did not give her a reason to strike. Unfortunately, you have given her reasons to assault you through her entire conditioning process. I sincerely hope you do not give her any more.”

Shadow Weaver’s shudder was audible as Lord Hordak left the room. Looking between the two, Scorpia rose from her seat and left. Nobody wanted to be in the meeting room while the two had it out, least of all the mild-mannered former Princess.

Thus were the two left alone. Shadow Weaver was quiet, almost contemplative in her own way. Her hands were on her chin, her breaths crackling behind her mask.

Finally, her voice rang out.

“We will infiltrate the Sea Wall via dressing in white robes akin to those of the Hegemony’s mages, alongside expertly crafted glamors thanks to me. There will be robotic backup, but we will use it as a distraction. We will make our way to its bottom, to the prison level, and then to block forty-two. That is where we will find Admiral Scurvy and Force Captain Octavia. They will be near other miners.”

“Miners?” Catra asked. “The Sea Wall. Well, by that point, they’d already be at the ocean floor. What could they possibly be mining for down there?”

“I am unsure,” Shadow Weaver admitted. “I believe, thanks to the research we have done, that the Hegemony is not mining for resources. No, they have those in abundance.”

“Then what?” Catra asked. “What could they possibly be mining for?”

Shadow Weaver sucked in air. “I do not know. All I know is that they desire Dryl. Its economy is primarily based around mining.”

“Princess Entrapta bases her economy on mining?”

“Yes,” Shadow Weaver said. “She has citizens employed to mine, searching simultaneously for valuable resources and for First Ones artifacts. I believe it is something like that.”

“Her citizens are slaves?” Catra asked.

“Disappointingly, nothing of the sort. She keeps them employed, gives them rightful benefits and good work hours. She ensures that, thanks to trade with the Hegemony, they are fed. It is rather ironic as well that she has such good economic ties with an empire which has tried and failed multiple times to acquire her allegiance in military matters.”

“Interesting,” Catra said.

“I do not know what they are mining for, but Lord Hordak and I have several predictions. They are not relevant to this mission.”

“I want to know them anyways,” Catra said.

“What?” Shadow Weaver asked.

Catra smirked. This was it. She wouldn’t hurt the sorcerer, not in a million years. However, to see those false eyes drift off in fear of Lord Hordak’s wrath, that would be a treat.

“I want to know what your assumptions are.”

“Well,” Shadow Weaver said. “I can’t tell you. Lord Hordak hasn’t given me authorization.”

“Now, now,” Catra said. “Let’s not make me do something you’ll regret.”

Shadow Weaver sighed. Rolling her eyes, the sorcerer spoke. Catra had to admit she was surprised at how quickly she submitted, but she supposed that pragmatism had won the day for the Force Commander. How fortunate that it wouldn’t be an influence upon young Catra.

“Lord Hordak has come to assume that there is something the First Ones left here. Most likely, a weapon of some sort. Buried in the core of the planet, its heart. It is somehow attached to dimensional rifts, like the ones that brought Adora here.”

“Dimensional rifts?”

“Yes,” Shadow Weaver said. “That is all I can tell you. You will have to consult Lord Hordak if you want any more information.”

“Huh,” Catra said.

So, the Hegemony was searching for a kind of dimensional superweapon. She supposed that was fair. After all, she wouldn’t have a second thought if she had the opportunity to crush the Hegemony, to bring Adora back no matter how she yelled. The Force Captain knew better than to assume herself any more moral.

“Is that all?” Catra asked.

“No,” Shadow Weaver said. “You gave away the fact we have the Black Garnet. That means I will reveal myself. If I am correct, everything will be diverted to me. I will face the enemy alone.”

“You?” Catra asked with an eyebrow raised. “You crumbled the moment I suggested Lord Hordak might get mad.”

“Trust me,” Shadow Weaver said. “I do not fear geodites and mages. They are amateur. I fear Lord Hordak only because he now has control. We will need to work together if we are to see him fall, and ourselves rise.”

“I’m not agreeing to that,” Catra said. “I’m not getting myself wrapped up in your schemes.”

Shadow Weaver rose from her seat. She looked to Catra, and reached out a hand. Catra hissed, raising a hand to swat it away in reflex, only to see that the hand had come palm-first. Shadow Weaver pressed a hand to her cheek.

“Lord Hordak will never care,” Shadow Weaver said. “He thinks we are tools. He will use us until we break. We _must_ defeat him.”

“No,” Catra said quietly.

“Yet, he placed no loyalty with you when I sabotaged your operations. At last, I see your worth, Catra. You are indeed my greatest successor. Do not forget that, harsh as I can be, all I do is out of love. You are just as I am, but Lord Hordak, for once, is correct; you have surpassed me in flexibility and adaptability. Not to mention, he likes you. Imagine it, Catra. We could have the life we deserve. We could overthrow him. We have always failed in the light, but in the darkness, yes, sneaking through the shadows, where the Hegemony has forced us to lie, that is where we are strong. What will it be, Force Captain? Shall we allow Lord Hordak to rule over us, or shall we pluck that crystal from his collar and watch as he falters?”

It was tempting, Catra couldn’t lie. After all, if the end result was that she could retrieve Adora, that she could have the power she desired, she could rule the Fright Zone. Besides, it was a more clever course of action to play along with ambition. However, there was a rattling in the ceiling vent. Catra knew there were only a few ways this could play out. Looking to ensure Shadow Weaver hadn’t noticed the sound from above, Catra smirked.

“I want to know something first. What are you?”

“What am I?”

“I want to know your past. Your relationship with the Empress. Your power.”

Shadow Weaver let loose a cold, malignant breath. “Fine,” she said. “My past is a sordid one. It is a tale of misery. I was a powerful mage at Mystacor, back when they had peaceful practices. I was an illusionist, an artful one. I remain powerful in illusionary arts, but I needed more. They urged me to take on more. I wished to equal the Princesses in power, so I looked through countless spellbooks. One day, a forbidden book was left on my desk. It was on a specific page. The Spell of Obtainment.”

“What’s the Spell of Obtainment?” Catra asked.

Dozens of black tendrils sprang from Shadow Weaver’s back, tearing through her robe. They welled from the floor. They smelled of ashen death and rotten flesh, looking as though they were composed of vile, oozing antimatter. Shadow Weaver ran her fingers across the table, the tendrils following her command.

“ _This_ is the Spell of Obtainment. These tendrils connect to my innermost self, corrupted to the core by the casting. It is a forbidden art, one I did not complete properly. Still, it allows me to consume any being into an oblivion, where they instantly perish. Their strength, particularly their magic, is added to my own. It is how I channel the Black Garnet. I have consumed pieces of it for years, slowly but surely absorbing its power.”

“So, you eat people to get their power?”

“Oh, I do not need to do it so directly. I can merely sap power from people and runestones. Still, yes, I suppose I could consume someone.”

“What about the Empress?”

“Her husband was among my apprentices, when he was a bright young teenager. I had my share of conflicts with the ‘Alliance’ due to their peaceful practices. They abandoned that pretense of peace later on. Among those conflicts was a recurring one with Castaspella. Ah, my beloved Casta.”

“Beloved?” Catra asked.

Shadow Weaver projected the image of a young woman in her hands, one wearing a blue tunic and a pink robe. Her lips and hair were white, her features beautiful. She danced in Shadow Weaver’s hand.

“Casta,” she said, almost as though she had a conscience buried somewhere within her. “Casta was a wonderful user of magic. She was amazing, impressive, useful in every manner. Unfortunately, it was not to be. She was steadfastly devoted to the Hegemony’s cause and worship of the First Ones. I was not, to say the least. In compensation, since I could not go rogue alongside her, I bided my time. Eventually, I decided I would take away her younger brother. She would come for him, and find that she still cared for me. That younger brother was the man we would come to know as King Micah. My apprentice, a king! Imagine that! First apprentice a king, second a savior.”

Catra pretended to be oblivious to the obvious insult. “Yeah?” she asked, knowing how Shadow Weaver loved to talk.

“King Micah was a good man, but our story ends in a morbid manner. It ends in his death. A cruel death, undignified. One of my greatest regrets, to this day, was watching that split-second when he remained, rather than averting my eyes.”

“That’s horrible,” Catra said softly.

“It was,” Shadow Weaver responded.

“What about channeling the runestones? The Empress does the same thing, right?”

“Correct,” Shadow Weaver said. “She is not corrupted, however. I do not know how she does it. She could not have cast the Spell of Obtainment. She shows none of the signs, no scars, no corruption visible. I do not know _how_ she channels the runestones. I merely know that she _does_. Perhaps she truly is divine.”

“Perhaps,” Catra admitted.

“Get rest, child. We have work to do.”

As Catra looked up into the vent, she saw a pair of yellow eyes peeking back. “Yeah,” she said. “We do. Not to be a real Hordak about it, but please get out? I’ve got some research I’ve gotta do if we’re gonna pull this off.”

“Gladly,” Shadow Weaver said. “I will send you the file.”

The two nodded at each other as though each didn’t hate one another, as though they were comrades, and Shadow Weaver exited the room. Catra looked back up. The yellow eyes were still there. Excellent.

Shadow Weaver had plans. Oh, she always had plans, plans upon plans. This time, however, things would be different. In assuming she had manipulated Catra, she had in truth played into the young Force Captain’s hands. It seemed the hag was absolutely incorrigible. Good.

Catra’s thoughts couldn’t drift to tomorrow’s mission. No, they stayed here with her, looking up at Imp’s yellow eyes. She had work to do. Sordid, treacherous work, but work nonetheless. Oh, yes, and it would be beautiful.

Shadow Weaver was playing her game now. There would be a price for it all, of course, a price for seeking power. Catra was willing to pay whatever moral and karmic price stood in her path, the obstacle on her path to ruling the Etherian Horde. That throne would be hers, and she would save Adora.

No matter the cost.

**~Hegemony~**

The meeting room was full once more. It seemed the Hegemonic Council met every day now, although that made sense. She-Ra’s arrival was, after all, a turning point in the war. Today, however, the Hegemony accepted a new member of their force. Invited to attend a council meeting of all things was a skinny, young blonde man. He went by the name Kyle, and he stumbled into the room, coughing awkwardly from the multiple flights of stairs.

Kyle and Adora shared a look, and in an instant, Adora rushed toward him. Before long, they were embracing in a hug. Adora patted the young man’s back, and he held her tight. Even in the Hegemony, some had true friends, a sight reflected by the two’s focus on holding one another. The Princesses simply sat and looked. Bow, however, eyed the two with a significant suspicion. He had, after all, been the one to call this meeting, a meeting right under the nose of the Empress. None wanted her to discover his insubordination, lest they deal with her anger. They did not like dealing with her anger, for frankly obvious reasons.

The Princesses were, for the most part, clever and wise people. Among their wisdoms was that they did not face the mad Empress. Princess Glimmer least of all liked to anger the Empress. That was despite her own nature, that of a young woman, whose rage bordered on feral at times. She was a loving and passionate woman, bright and full of potential.

“So, I want you all to know why I’ve called this meeting,” Bow said.

“You’re going to tell us that you diverted my troops,” Princess Mermista said.

Bow nodded as Adora took her seat. He looked uncomfortably at Kyle. Quickly, Sea Hawk rushed toward the communications sphere’s front, pressing his hands to it and waving with great fervor at this intruder.

“The half of your troops that would’ve gone to Snows are back on the Sea Wall,” Bow stated. “I made that happen.”

“So, we met to talk treachery?” asked Netossa. “I can skip this meeting. Spinny and I are gonna secede soon anyways.”

Bow sighed. “You do that, but I assure you, the Empress will not take that well.”

“Oh, I know,” Netossa said. “We’re gonna see about it anyways.”

“Good way to get conquered a lot worse than you are now,” Mermista snarked.

“I can’t help but agree with Princess Mermista on this one,” Frosta said. “I mean, you saw how she got over a minor inconvenience. She was gonna exile me.”

“In addition, we have a problem. A spy, in this very alliance.”

“Duh,” Mermista said. “Lord Hordak’s got spies everywhere. I had to have one of my servants sent to the mines last week. Left a pit in my cherry. His assassins aren’t all that good.”

Bow blinked. “I’m just going to ignore that,” he muttered. “Listen closely. This spy is close to us. Suspect everyone, even the other Princesses. Scratch that. _Especially_ the other Princesses.”

“Why?” Frosta asked.

“I received this note yesterday. Its handwriting is formal, so it has to be someone from the city. It uses the exact print people are taught in Bright Moon’s schools. Perfect in every way.”

Bow gently put a note on display, before sticking it to the table with a sharp crossbow bolt. Mermista was curious, as was Adora. Kyle, of course, was busy chatting with Sea Hawk, who seemed to hardly recognize the situation at hand. If he did, he was completely ignoring it in favor of conversing with young Kyle.

 _We are going to destroy the Empress,_ read the note. _Not merely defeat. Destroy. We are going to ruin her, and then we are going to overthrow her. We will sentence her to her own mines and let the people she’s enslaved tear her apart. Then, we will claim her kingdom, and the kingdoms of every Princess, before we avenge the lost that they have left in their wake, their heads first in a guillotine, then upon their own gates._

“Colorful,” Adora said.

“So,” Bow said. “One of us did this. Someone from either Bright Moon or one of the other royal palaces. Be very careful. Exceptionally wary. Someone in our midst is working for the Horde at best, or themself at worst.”

“So what?” Adora asked. “We don’t trust anybody?”

“Precisely,” Bow said. “Don’t even trust me. Any one of us could be a traitor. I’m not telling the Empress because she’d use it as an excuse to punish Glimmer.”

Glimmer nodded, knowing that quite well.

“In addition, I have good news. Adora here has managed to reactivate the ancient First Ones artificial intelligence known as Light Hope. Light Hope was so kind as to introduce me to some First Ones research, which means I know exactly what the Horde is planning. Species 060606, a military species with a hive mind, used the exact tactic the Horde did in the recent raid of the comms tower. The soldiers would raid an enemy installment, burn the supplies, announce a conquest, and then attack somewhere else, typically to free prisoners. Minus the burning supplies, that played out line-for-line in the attack. In addition, I cross-checked that with our records on the Hegemony’s Horde prisoners. The most high-profile prisoners we currently have are the Force Captain Octavia and the outlaw Admiral Scurvy. He is not officially associated with the forces.”

“Okay, so they’re hitting the Sea Wall?” Adora asked.

“Precisely,” Bow said. “We’ll hit them there. We’ll sneak you and Glimmer in among the guards, and we’ll ambush them.”

“How’d you figure all this out?” Glimmer asked. “Light Hope couldn’t give us anything for tactical records.”

“Oh, I have my ways,” Bow said. “Specifically, I looked at forbidden artifacts from the species. One of the artifacts in the database, outlawed by the species’ leader himself, was a painting. The painting demonstrated first the part of the method in which they burned the supplies, with a flag being planted atop a map of the other kingdom. Then, it showed a different target entirely, with prisoners being freed in that battle.”

“How’d you get ‘They’re gonna attack the Sea Wall’ out of that?” Mermista asked. “That’s just crazy. It’s nothing like tactical records.”

“Tactical records give insight into what the enemy did,” Bow responded. “Art gives insight into what they _will_ do. I’m not as inclined toward the literal, the physical, as some people are. In addition, the painting displays figures that look almost identical to Lord Hordak. These figures are likely the species he originates from. In addition, this was the sole record on the species, beyond simple genetic records. Everything else about them had been deleted by the database. Let’s be clear. Adora is smart. She understood right away. The rest of you are smart too, but you’re too focused on power and tactics. What we need isn’t power and tactics anymore. It’s comprehension. We have to understand the enemy.”

“Agreed,” Glimmer said. “Which is why, when I did some searching for ‘Horde,’ I found the same species.”

“Which leads to one conclusion,” Netossa said. “Lord Hordak is an alien conqueror who’s come to build a new version of this empire of his on Etheria.”

“I think you’re right,” Mermista said. “But you mentioned a hive mind? The Horde doesn’t function like that at all. There’s a deviation.”

“Yeah!” Frosta said. “The Horde’s less of a hive mind, more of a group of people stumbling over each other to try and reach the top.”

“And it speaks volumes of Lord Hordak’s tactical skill and power that he’s stayed there,” Adora said.

“Not really!” Kyle exclaimed, finally joining the conversation. “I mean, I literally just hit him a couple times and he went down.”

“No,” Bow said. “That’s not all there is to it.”

“What?” Kyle asked.

Bow displayed on his wrist a hologram. It was the events of the comms tower raid, except slowed down. It showed Lord Hordak facing the electrical injury. There was more than merely the tasing that had shaken him, however; no, it was not his arm becoming dead weight. His eyes flickered at a rapid pace. His movements grew erratic. Bow looked to Adora and Glimmer, and they’d figured it out.

“ _Glimmer_!” Adora suddenly snapped. Glimmer’s eyes went wide. “You haven’t properly thanked the guests for eating your cooking! Don’t make me send you to the mines!”

Glimmer’s response was almost identical to Lord Hordak’s. Bow took a second, and as the crown princess rose to her feet, stammering and attempting to run, he reached out a hand toward her. He gave Adora a stern look, and was met with only a shrug. She had felt she needed a demonstration, and messing with Glimmer was at times fun. After all, the two did remain rivals; no matter what, that part of them was going to be on some level present.

“See that?” Adora asked. “I get what Bow’s trying to say.”

“In addition,” Bow said, clutching Glimmer’s hand tight. “I enhanced the visuals. I knew Lord Hordak was mouthing something.”

Kyle gulped. All eyes were on him for a moment. His feet tapped against the floor. It seemed it was only now that he realized quite what he had done.

“So, Lord Hordak is mouthing a few words here. The ones I can discern are ‘shadows’ and ‘pure.’ I think he might be experiencing a traumatic response. So, Kyle, you didn’t beat him just because you hit him hard enough. He specifically had issues with that sensation already.”

“So what?” Mermista asked. “We just electrocute him a lot?”

“Setting aside the clear lack of _basic courtesy_ taking advantage of someone’s trauma carries,” Bow said, staring daggers into Adora, “it is very likely Lord Hordak will properly insulate his armor to prevent this from happening again.”

“Lord Hordak isn’t known for properly insulating things,” the savior quipped shakily.

Adora had to admit she felt a little bad about her actions toward Glimmer. It was an impulsive decision, the sort of thing she had thought humorous at the time she’d made it. Now, however, from the way the crown princess shook, she could discern that it probably wasn’t very funny at all. Still, the time for apologies was later. There was a spy here.

“Fresh eyes,” Adora said. “Kyle.”

“You’re going to scoop my eyes out?” Kyle asked, his face a mess of worry.

“No!” Adora exclaimed. “No. What we need is someone like Kyle. No powers, no position. He’s pretty much the best person we could have look at this situation. Think about it. Everyone who’s been here before has a bias. They have a stance on the issues presented. Kyle literally got here yesterday. We let him sit in on the council meetings, we can figure out who the traitor is.”

“So,” Bow said. “You’re suggesting we give someone a seat on the council, who’s just arrived, who has no experience, and who literally just defected from the Horde a day ago.”

“You gave me one,” Adora said.

“Right,” Bow said. “But you’re _She-Ra_.”

“I’m aware I’m She-Ra,” Adora muttered. “Why would that make me trustworthy? I’m in on the whole ‘coup’ thing just as much as the rest of you.”

“Wait,” Kyle said. “Coup? Oh, c’mon, I left the Horde to get away from a coup.”

“There’s a coup in the Horde?” Bow asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The Horde is _composed_ of traitors,” Kyle said. “They’re always looking to better their position, to step over each other like they’re steps on the way to power. I left to get away from that.”

“We can use you,” Glimmer said excitedly, still recovering from the verbal attack Adora had delivered. “We can use you. You know more about the current state of the Horde. I say we put him on the council.”

“All in favor?” Bow asked.

A mess of “ayes” sealed the deal. Kyle was part of the Hegemonic Council. Adora couldn’t help but admit that, knowing pretty much anyone could get onto it, she felt a little less special, and a little more sorry for Glimmer. After all, if new recruits could make their way to it so easily, yet Glimmer had to struggle, it spoke volumes of how the Empress despised her, how the Empress had likely so despised her husband as well.

Adora was unsure what it was. Not a _casus belli_ , as the Hegemony and Horde were already at war, and that war needed no more justification than that which it had. Yet, she was quite sure of it. All evidence pointed to the idea that the Empress had atomized her “beloved” Micah, killed him and blamed the Horde. Why could it be? The information didn’t track. No matter who she worked for, it didn’t make any sense.

The first question was why the Empress killed Micah, if Adora was to manage the assumption that she had done so, an assumption which had come purely from rumor; plausible rumor, to be sure, but rumor nonetheless. Then it became a matter of Glimmer’s treatment at her hand. If the Empress was so quick to eliminate Micah, for whatever sickening reason she had committed such a vile deed, why did she not eliminate Glimmer as well? The only conclusion that could be drawn was that Angella loved Glimmer, but that couldn’t be possible. It didn’t track with the other information Adora had.

Light Hope had been of no assistance either. The time of Mara had been one before Angella’s reign, and thus Light Hope had no insight whatsoever into her motives. All Light Hope was able to state was that the Empress was indeed handpicked by the First Ones, the House of Miro supposedly having selected her to rule over Etheria.

That was all there was on Miro, unfortunately. Nobody could figure out exactly what they dealt with. The files had been wiped clean.

“So, I suppose you’re on the Hegemonic Council,” Adora said.

Kyle blinked, and looked around the room. “No?” he asked meekly. “I literally don’t want any part of your power games, and I don’t want to oppose the Horde. I just want to live normally and safely. Is that really so much to ask?”

“Kyle, to ask for personal peace in times of war _is_ selfish,” Netossa said. “It’s cowardly.”

“I’d much rather be cowardly than get into another childish scuffle!” Kyle exclaimed.

Glimmer rose from her seat, likely to smack some sense into the former cadet, but Adora decided she would handle it herself. Raising a hand, she silenced the room. Even the Princesses in their elegant palaces were entirely quiet.

“Listen, Kyle. The people on the Council get authority over how the Hegemony is run. They get the best benefits in the kingdom. I literally have hundreds of servants at my beck and call, all because I sit in a meeting. You can do that too. Just take notes. Hell, you don’t even need to be in the room. Angella wouldn’t be happy if we let a commoner who wasn’t Bow in, so I’ll just bring a listening device.”

“A comms crystal?” Glimmer asked.

“No,” Bow said. “A one-way listening device, based on Dryl specifications, complete with a sound-blocking button. We need security measures.”

“Right,” Adora said. “You don’t need to do anything for us but listen and take notes objectively. We’ll look at those notes and figure out who the traitor is. It’ll be easy, and we can sneak you a paper saying you’re on the Council, royal seal and all. After all, one of the members of this little conspiracy is the only successor in the royal family.”

Adora would consider that a reminder to herself as well. The moment, the very second the Empress fell, she would need to find a way to bring Glimmer down with her. That would quite possibly mean she would have to eliminate Bow as well, but she supposed that would need to happen. Glimmer wasn’t fit to rule like she was. She didn’t have the power, nor the clear, sane mind, a mind recently made perfect by the presence of Light Hope.

Etheria needed her. They needed a strong, wise ruler who would hand the planet to the man she had seen in that vision of hers. Among the First Ones was this conqueror, and she needed to see Etheria spared. She needed him to spare Catra. She wouldn’t watch them fall. If the cost of Etheria’s survival was a tyrant ruling over it, so be it. It wouldn’t be a significant change by any means, considering the current state of affairs.

If a single thing were wrong, a crack in the glass, a misplaced spill on a painting, the conqueror would wipe them all out. Adora somehow knew it. With that inexplicable knowledge, she reminded herself exactly what would have to be done. There would have to be a darker war, one more internalized within the almighty Hegemony.

“You do nothing but take some notes, something you’re already good at, and you get to experience all the benefits of being on the council. Plus, the Princesses are the most protective bunch I’ve met in my life. We can be friends.”

Bow gave the two a suspicious look, and then nodded.

“Friends?” Kyle asked.

“That’s right,” Adora said. “True, things are hard, but that doesn’t mean even the simple things in life have to suddenly disappear. The people in the Horde never valued you. They never respected you. I do. You punched Lord Hordak in the face. Even as She-Ra, I’m not sure I’d have the guts to do that.”

“You mean it?” Kyle asked.

Oh, how easily manipulated Kyle was. Adora almost felt ashamed on his behalf. He wasn’t fit for war at all. He would at least be safe in the Hegemony’s chambers. Deep in their gilded, beautiful, bejeweled prison, Kyle would be protected by those who proclaimed themselves his friends.

But they would never let him go.

The meeting concluded with Kyle agreeing to their terms. Adora, the moment the Princesses were gone, offered a false apology for her actions toward Glimmer, who responded in kind with a false acceptance. Now, however, Adora needed something else. She had thought Light Hope would answer her question, but she had nothing to say. It seemed there was only one person who could say with certainty the truth of the matter. So, on she went, on to the chambers of the Empress. She went through the serpentine halls, growing brighter every second, more illuminated as the tidings of what she would do grew more morbid and vile.

Manifesting the blade of She-Ra, Adora decided that if she was going to take this risk, she was going to come in on even footing. Knocking on the door as though she were not an eight-foot-tall woman carrying a golden broadsword, she looked upon it. It was golden, shining and shimmering, its every aspect engraved beautifully.

“Come in,” said the soothing voice of the Empress. “Adora, my child,” she said, knowing without looking. “Did you know that the Sword of Power is not the blade Mara wielded? I had my suspicions already. In the few records of Mara I had, the blade was blue. Sure enough, I found Light Hope’s logs. You and Mara are alike in being She-Ra, but hers is not the sword in your hand. You take up an improvement. An upgrade. The Sword of Power, taken from the body of an unworthy prince.”

“Well,” Adora said. “That’s something. Not what I came here for, but something.”

“What did you come here for, my child?” she asked. “I must apologize for being temperamental the other day. Lord Hordak’s insult to me was grave.”

“Yeah,” Adora said. “Yeah, it was pretty grave. Almost as grave as the rumors I’ve heard. Everyone knows. Or at least, they think they know. I wanna hear your side of it.”

The Empress sighed.

“I am not deaf to these suspicions. It is the inevitable result of years of misplaced hatred. They wound me, but to dignify them with a response would only rouse them. Thus, I do nothing of the sort, child.”

“Then tell me,” Adora said. “Why did you murder King Micah?”

The Empress clenched her fists, and looked out over her balcony. “I did not,” she murmured just loud enough. “Please, quiet down. I will give you the truth.”

A cabinet to the left of the Empress’s massive bed, half of it empty. On the left pillow sat a black hair. Adora wondered if it was Micah’s hair, which she had not had it in herself to get rid of. That was, in a strange way, almost romantic. She left a little part of the former king on her bed always, so as not to feel so alone.

The Empress moved a finger forward, and from the cabinet emerged a small, round crystal. Adora looked at it. Angella turned to her, her eyes a reddish tone. Adora’s own eyes flickered to the side, and then the Empress moved to the bed, sitting down.

“You have spoken to him, have you not? The one clad in blue, with undead hands and a cruel disposition?”

“How did you know?”

“I see it in your eyes. His corruption. The vile rattling of his bones. He commands me, Adora. I believe our objective is the same now that you have the same knowledge I do. I conquer Etheria, crush its resistance, all as a display to him. He enjoys it. As I came to after a time.”

“What about Micah, though?”

Angella looked to Adora, and then away in shame.

The crystal lit up, flaring with an ancient image. Judging by the glowing wings curling around the viewpoint, and the fur-bearded Force Captain lying lifeless and pale at the feet of whoever had captured the image, Adora could only assume this was the footage, magically rendered, of the battle in which Micah had died, specifically from Angella’s point of view. The Empress looked across the field of battle, and then down to her feet. Black tendrils pulled at them.

“You see, Shadow Weaver knew my power. She attempted to claim me, consume me whole.”

Through the chaos of an artillery strike, concussive rounds, flashbangs, Angella flew. She batted away with every blow a dozen grenades. Knockout gas and smoke alike exploded in midair against her touch, yet for every second of it, for every moment of the discord and calamity, the tendrils pulled at her. She raced forth, her blasts sparkling, tearing through legions of robots even as her aura turned a sickly, hellish crimson, and her power drained from her.

The tendrils reached around the Empress’s body, and a geodite rushed past. With a massive blast of divine, sparkling pink energy, Angella destroyed the tendrils, rushing forth. Reaching out a hand as the tendrils remained below her feet, a black void attempting to swallow her, she screamed the name of the king. It was too late. The tendrils reached from around her to Micah. There was shaking as the two collided, and in a moment, Angella was on the ground, reaching out for Micah as that abyss which had sought to claim her life claimed his instead. He was dragged below the ground by a mass of tendrils, and the void closed its maw around him. The life of Micah had been taken in an instant.

“It is shameful,” Angella said. “First I could not save him. Then, however, the First One I speak to declared that I must lie about his death. That was the worst part. I could not even mourn him properly. He told me that I must claim that Lord Hordak did the deed, to whip my legions into a frenzy. They loved Micah much more than they loved me. So, I did his bidding for the good of Etheria. I see him some nights, child. Pleading for me to save him from the hell he lives in now. I can do nothing, Adora. _Nothing_! It is truly grievous that they accuse me of his murder, when I want nothing more than to bring him back from it. Perhaps the magic of the First Ones could even raise the dead. It is how I keep myself alive. I wonder. I imagine. I dream that one day, that bed will be again full with him, but then I wonder as well… if he returned, would he recognize me?”

“Angella, I--”

“Would he, Adora? Would he see me as the woman he fell in love with, a noble queen who could be swayed from the dark path I tread? Or would he see what I have become? A tyrant, who relishes the suffering of her enemy, who does not love her own daughter. She… she has his eyes, you know. Peering at me, gazing into my very soul, impaling my flesh like knives. I wish so dearly every day to tell her, you know, to tell her I love her. I simply know better.”

“I’m sorry,” Adora said.

Angella wiped her eyes. “Do not be, child. You are not at fault.”

“You keep his hair on your bed?” Adora asked.

“Hm?” Angella asked. Then, she looked upon her pillow. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a moment, just long enough to catch, and she wiped the small strand of black hair from her pillow. For just a moment, Adora recognized that it smelled of elegant flowers. “No, that is, that is nothing.”

“So, we’re a lot more alike than we thought.”

“Look at power not as beneficial, but as transactional, Adora. Every miracle you may bring, every spell you may cast, every swing of your sword. It comes with a price. All of it, child. Never assume that you have been given power without something being taken away in turn. Even something you love. Then, judge only whether it was worth the cost.”

Adora hadn’t expected this result. Then again, she supposed she didn’t know what she had expected. It was implausible that Angella had slain her beloved Micah. Angella wiped her face again, and clenched her fists. Putting her hands to her chin, she looked at Adora, who was tempted to extend a hand in sympathy. Then, she reminded herself of the horrific effects she had across the land. Although the Empress had more to her than it may have seemed initially, that did not compensate for her cruelty, no matter the reason it was done.

Still, Adora wondered if the same could be said of herself.

Shadow Weaver had killed Micah. Her own apprentice, no less. How could someone do that? How could they turn on a dime and seek to murder someone they claimed to love? It was so cruel, so monstrous a thing. Adora couldn’t comprehend the sickened, corrupted mind of someone who could bring themself to do it.

Sure, she fantasized at times of harming Catra. That was awful. The guilt she felt upon every dash the thought ran across her mind’s paths, unbearable. How could someone silence that guilt? How could they sever their conscience?

Adora would watch a thousand people she did not know suffer in the mines. To watch a single person she truly loved fall, however, she could not bear. Thus, she dedicated herself to Etheria’s protection, a protection through surrender.

“We’re on the same side,” Adora said.

For now, they were. However, the Empress remained too cruel, her evil for the sake of vengeance unjustifiable. Adora would simply have to learn from her failures. Adora would not allow herself to enjoy that which had come from this, lest she become little more than the Empress. They would greet her as a hero, a liberator, the one who had freed Bright Moon and the entire Hegemony from the iron fist of the Empress.

Kyle could help them find the traitor. What the council didn’t realize was that every one of them was, in their own way, a traitor. Among them was with certainty Adora.

She would need to visit Light Hope. She needed a new path. Today’s revelations had been quite astonishing, both in their power and their tragedy.

As she exited the Empress’s chambers, she brought with her only that which she had learned within. The thoughts ran throughout her mind, that not only of betrayal, but of the heartbreak which had befallen Angella.

She would defend Etheria. She would reclaim Catra. The two of them would stand side by side as the portals opened, and as the First Ones came to dominate the world. Still, the thought of what Angella had watched echoed throughout her mind. Could she watch that? Could she see Catra fall? How would she withstand it?

Lord Hordak would go just as mad if the one he loved fell before his very eyes. Anyone would. Glimmer would do the same if she saw Bow fall, and he in turn. It was the nature of people; once she had believed otherwise, but now she knew better than to assume good faith. People were barbaric in their inherent nature, every one of them treacherous. It was only a matter of protecting what you had, ensuring it was not taken by anyone else. Angella had failed in protecting Micah. Adora would not repeat that mistake. Someday, she would claim Catra for herself, and they would rule together.

Light Hope would have the answers. Adora would have solutions. It was but a matter of months now, of luring the Hegemony to its own doom, and in that doom, she would bring to the falling empire its salvation.

A thousand things destroyed, a thousand people saved. Every one of them by the Sword of Power. Her blade turning to a bracer, she moved on, heading for the library. There was a price to be paid, but she would have Etheria. She would have power. She would have Catra. She would have all that she desired.

No matter the cost.


	9. Freedom

This is, was, and will be a tale of the She-Ra.

Catra of the Fright Zone first arrived in a box. Her name was given to her by Adora, who had viewed her with great excitement. Catra was fortunate that she was given a name that dignified; had Adora chosen to speak a minute later, her name would have been Meowmeow, which would generally have made social interaction awkward.

Lord Hordak had taken in the children, as was his practice at the time. It was a simple matter. He was cruel, but he was not so cruel as to abandon children to die in the wilderness, and the Divine Alliance would be of no help whatsoever. If they found the children, they would at absolute best have examined them for magical potential. If the children were so unlucky as not to have it, they would be abandoned to the wild. The Horde was always in need of new recruits, and it was better to give them a home in the Horde than to leave them to what the Alliance would do with them.

So it was that Catra came to the Horde. None know what happened to her family; perhaps they died, or perhaps fled the rising tide of a galactic empire. Perhaps they simply did not care, and abandoned her on the outskirts of the Fright Zone where she would be found.

Adora’s own family hardly cared for her. Like all First One families, they bred their child in an attempt to earn the right to carry the power of She-Ra. Little did they know, however, that the Sword of Protection was long destroyed, and the Sword of Power was trapped on Etheria, never again to be found. Their king held them under the illusion that Etheria was mere days away.

It was ironic how Adora’s story would come to play out; loved not by her blood, nor by her friends, she was not seen as a worthy successor to the legacy of the She-Ra. Little did her parents know that the only price which needed to be paid for the power of She-Ra was the First Ones blood in her veins. She would disappear one day, and the empire that had raised her would hardly notice. Then did she land upon shining Etheria, where she would find Catra.

Now, Adora stood across Etheria from Catra,on opposite sides of a war. Adora, She-Ra, savior of the Hegemony, opposing Catra, the most ambitious lieutenant of the Horde. However, Catra was now wearing their colors, wearing bright white robes and a silver helm over her face. A red star pendant over her chest provided her protection. Beside her was Shadow Weaver, the one who had taken her under her care for so long, solely to influence Adora. The two snuck along the cyan-painted Sea Wall, atop its massive circular structure, on their path to the center, to the Sea Gate of the kingdom known as Salineas.

Salineas was a fine kingdom of strength and valor in the eyes of the Hegemony. Its primary export was salt, its surface driven by canals. The Sea Gate was managed entirely by its mighty and splendorous navy. The two had arrived to this “fine” kingdom via a stolen Hegemony boat, seeming as though two new guards.

The mighty gate opened to allow ships through, allowing the entire Hegemony its trade. However, Catra had no interest in the economy of the mighty empire. No, she was here today with intent to free two prisoners as she had been ordered by Lord Hordak. She was alongside Shadow Weaver only due to necessity.

If one were to define her feeling in a single physical motion, it would be the clenching of teeth. She and Shadow Weaver walked calmly along the wall. Atop its foundation, they moved past thousands of guards and geodites alike, the forces of the Hegemony watching them always, yet knowing not who they were.

That was the nature of the Hegemony, she supposed. Thousands of people upon the Sea Wall, watching and waiting, living their safe lives. As two strangers wearing their uniforms wandered through, growing ever nearer, they had no reason to assume that there were traitors in their midst, yet they did so anyways.

Across the Sea Wall, with magic, the Hegemony broadcasted the same things day and night alike. Signs showing the pillaging and destruction of the Horde. Footage of Lord Hordak’s vile speech, which had so provoked the Empress that she likely had five paintings commissioned of it rather than her usual four. The citizens did not know that he had played up the image of the tyrant. That he merely played the role asked of him, and that in the cold reality, he was just like any of them.

It was in the darkness that the Horde thrived; that darkness did not, of course, mean _evil_ , although the Hegemony would argue otherwise. The Empress would state for hours and hours that it was the Horde that had been architects of their own misery, and to some extent, she would be correct in asserting so. It was true that Lord Hordak was a conqueror, having come from his unknown planet to Etheria to rebuild an empire, and the Fright Zone’s squalid and vile conditions were the result of his machinations. Yet in spite of that, it was the Hegemony’s authoritarian regime that ruled the world. They had never considered extending a hand to the Horde. They did not help people in need. They only aided their own.

On the lower levels of the Sea Wall, away from the utopian, salty-aired paradise above, there were the miners. Thousands of them, just as many miners as guards. The geodites outnumbered everything across the wall which surrounded the entirety of Etheria. Although they called solely the entrance to Salineas a Sea Gate, there were countless throughout the wall. The entire world seemed as though a massive fortress, surrounded by this mighty wall. Today, Catra knew she and Shadow Weaver would plunge the wall into chaos.

The two went on, yet as they reached lower levels, away from the sun, which now greeted them only through wide windows of glass, they found themselves crowded. Guards and geodites alike, mages and spear-carriers, flooded the halls. They could hardly step past, and the slightest error would reveal them. Every corridor had more and more guards, the density of the situation astounding. Neither could converse with one another about the occurrence, as they would be spotted with great immediacy if they did so, but it was clear exactly what was happening. They had been lured into a trap, with no doubt. Still, with no time to contact Lord Hordak and no time to create a new plan, the duo, esteemed in their ranks for entirely different reasons, formulated each their own scheme.

Shadow Weaver wore a glamor, a second skin, for she was unwilling to show her true, sin-infested face. Over her mouth, she had placed a veil, and over the rest of her face and body she was beautiful. She looked like herself, albeit without the damage she had created; it was strange, in a way, that she looked so gorgeous and kind, almost like a true mother.

Shadow Weaver looked to a map on the wall. Two lefts, and a right. That was the route which would put her on her way to the Sea Gate. Catra would have to handle things with the prisoners. Their pendants would defend them from the geodites when they were set upon the Hegemony soldiers, so they could remain in their disguises yet not face their own forces. The geodites were more a matter of display than of efficiency, in all honesty, but the chaos would serve their purpose quite well.

Through masses of white-clad guards, they moved on. Catra descended, until finally the masses cleared and she reached the dank, dark levels of the Sea Wall, beneath sea level. The cyan walls were filled with cracks and covered in green plant life, and few remained. The guards were wary, even more on edge than before. The walls were covered in posters which said to look out for Horde traitors.

One particularly memorable poster had a drawing of Lord Hordak as a muscular man with a head akin to that of a fish, a silver collar expanding vastly over his head to the point Catra wondered how he turned his neck. Alongside him, more interestingly, was Catra in a bright red uniform, short around the waist, and with high-heeled boots which were long on her legs. Catra wasn’t sure whether she was flattered or insulted. She settled on both.

Other posters along the blue walls, which she spotted as she walked down the stairs to the proper detention block, were similar in nature. They showed inaccurate depictions of the Horde’s troops, and said not to listen to any who spoke in favor of the Horde, to report them. Alongside them was a massive sign above one of the mining blocks, which read _Freedom? Not in the Horde._ Catra couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of that statement.

The people working in the mines were working tirelessly, hacking away with pickaxes. It was not as though the Hegemony didn’t have more efficient ways of doing this. Catra alone had deduced that the geodites would be exceptionally useful for mining purposes, according to Shadow Weaver’s files on them. The files said they were made from artificially-created crystal, not the sort which was mined by these prisoners, as though magic could create things from thin air. That was undeniably impressive, and Catra, no scientist herself, was interested in seeing how exactly the physics of their powers functioned. Still, she turned her eye to the block below, and saw the prisoners, all in identical brown, ragged tunics.

Visible was a man with a rugged scar over his left eye and black hair, complete with a beard around his chin. If Catra had a datapad, she would check the file, but she knew quite well that this man was doubtlessly Admiral Scurvy. Descending down the stairs, she found herself on a platform just above the miners. They struck at nothing in particular, merely going down, down, further down. There were no ores of value down here, only the dust and remains of the ocean. It was a lonely place.

The foreman was marked by not only his white uniform, but a badge on his left breast. He was a man with exceptionally pale skin and dirty blonde hair, his eyes seeming to shine even in the darker lower levels. Catra clenched her fist as the lights on the ceiling flickered, flashes through her mind of Adora. Resisting all temptation to attack, she recalled that she would need to buy time to locate Force Captain Octavia.

She spotted Octavia down there, tentacles protruding from her form in a manner best described as lovely. There was no bandage or patch over her eye, exposing a gruesome green hole in her face where her eye should have been. Catra felt a slight pang of pride, yet also of regret; after all, her childish actions had likely led to this. The woman was fearsome as a sea monster, her arms muscular and her teeth sharp, yet Catra watched her, and saw in her sole remaining eye, green as a lime and typically shining with brightness, only dull apathy. There was a dark circle under it, no reflection of the fierce and snarky soul she once had whatsoever. She merely pounded away with a pickaxe at the ground below, digging into sand and rock, hoping to achieve something which she would never find.

Then, she saw the foreman raise his hand. The miners, about three hundred in number, all looked up with great worry in their eyes. Catra took the moment to analyze the situation. With a scan of the crowd, she saw that Octavia and Scurvy were quite near each other. In addition, she noticed that throughout the entire crowd of miners, each one had a cuff on their ankle, and they were all chained together in a complex network of chains. That, it seemed, was why they did not rebel; any attempt would require alliance between the prisoners, solidarity and teamwork that was utterly perfect. Looking to the side wall, Catra saw a small slot which seemed to dispense these items, the chain and cuff alike, with a bright blue button beneath it.

In twenty minutes, Lord Hordak’s small air force would deposit robots on their position. That meant Catra had twenty minutes before the battle began, if that; Shadow Weaver would corrupt the crystalline core whenever she felt the urge to. She was not a woman of great loyalty, nor of following orders.

It interested her, though. She thought about Lord Hordak. He didn’t punish people simply for insubordination, provided the insubordination was beneficial to him. It wasn’t like his type to respect or encourage ambition, but nonetheless he did, and he did so with a gentle hand. It was the only thing not named Entrapta Hordak seemed to touch with a gentle hand.

The foreman checked a shining silver watch on his wrist, and then set the miners back to work. There was a collective sort of deflation, as though something was meant to happen yet did not. Perhaps they had been spared punishment? No, Catra could not believe that. Then down the stairs came a man with a curled brown mustache and a pair of green sea shell earrings. He wore a doublet of blue, zipped up the middle and with a classy jabot at its top. On his hip was what appeared to be the hilt of a sailor’s saber, known for use in seafaring combat. The man had eyes that seemed to sparkle, and a smile on his face.

“Alan!” he exclaimed as though the foreman was an old friend. The foreman turned away, looking at his watch. The sailor’s expression grew slightly sour, but then returned to a happy one. “I was just wondering if you would like some tea!”

“Go away, Sea Hawk.”

So this was the sailor known as Sea Hawk. He approached, but Alan didn’t acknowledge it whatsoever. The sailor seemed of a boisterous sort, accustomed more to the theater of plays than the theater of war. Still, as performative as he was, Catra had decided she needed to keep a close eye on him.

Then, Sea Hawk looked down to the miners. The foreman, likely the man named Alan, turned away, and Catra grew curious. Although disguised, she was hesitant to approach. In spite of that, she did so. Sea Hawk reached out a hand to the foreman, who batted it away.

“Bill was never like this,” Sea Hawk said in an airy and disappointed manner.

“You burned down Bill’s ship and he quit,” Alan said, his voice smooth and calm, almost too calm for what he witnessed.

“Regrettable!” Sea Hawk said. “Nonetheless, Alan, I merely wondered if you wanted tea! To refuse is just fine.”

“Go away.”

Then, Sea Hawk again looked to the prisoners. Grabbing Alan’s wrist, he looked at the silver watch. The foreman’s eyes visibly widened as he tried to pull his arm back.

“As I thought!” Sea Hawk said. “This is registered break time, Alan! These prisoners should be taking their lunch break to improve morale and efficiency!”

“I hate you,” Alan said. “Besides, these are orders from the Empress. Prisoners are only given one break per day, and their rations are being cut. Lord Hordak’s message messed her up.”

“These orders have not been passed down to _me_ , Alan, and even if they were, I have little interest in practicing inhumane things on our well-regarded prisoners of war! I will declare the break if you do not mind!”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” the foreman snarled, his pale face contorting with a sneer. “Mermista is already mad at me after she found out I was skimming off the top. Now if I disobey an order courtesy of the Empress, she’s going to have me put in those mines!”

“So you would treat our prisoners inhospitably just to preserve your own job?”

“I’m the foreman of the mine,” Alan said. “It’s my _job_ to treat the prisoners inhospitably.”

“The duty of a foreman is to be like a father, wise and caring!”

“My dad beat me with a belt.”

“Oh,” Sea Hawk said, startled by the revelation.

The entire room, Catra included, was exceptionally uncomfortable now. Alan burst into laughter as though it were funny, which caused Sea Hawk to give Catra and the lone other guard in the room a quiet look. Still, the sailor nonetheless clenched his fist and decided to press on in what he seemed to think was a grand, heroic task to get the prisoners a small lunch break. She supposed that was plenty noble by Hegemony standards. Certainly not the kind of thing she would try to do.

“We are not _barbarians_ ,” Sea Hawk said, greatly enunciating the word _barbarians_ as though it had any meaning to men like him, who lived their lives in shining palaces.

“I’m not giving them a break,” Alan said.

“Then we shall have to solve this like honorable men!”

“Oh, no,” Alan said.

“Oh, _yes_!” exclaimed Sea Hawk, removing from some obscure pocket in his coat a sword hilt not unlike his own. It was golden and ornate, decorated with a small jewel at the bottom.

“This is why I hate you,” Alan said. “You go around telling everyone how to do their jobs and then you try to sword fight them. If the Princess hadn’t given you her royal pass, I would shoot you.”

“With what?” Sea Hawk asked.

“Go away,” Alan said.

“No!” Sea Hawk responded.

In the voice of Sea Hawk a second earlier, such an exclamation would have been petulant. However, now it seemed defiant. Catra noticed the way his eyes seemed to light up as he spoke. Alan looked at him, and then backed away. Sea Hawk tossed him the hilt, and Alan barely caught it, now fumbling.

“We are not monsters,” Sea Hawk said, his voice now crackling with fiery spirit. “We treat our prisoners with the chivalry and honor that is their right. We do not torment them for the sake of unnecessary and wanton punishment! If you are a believer in such practices, Alan, we will have to solve this as true gentlemen do!”

“By fighting with swords,” Alan said. “You are aware that I’m a highborn who’s taken years of sword training?”

“Correct!” Sea Hawk said. “And I am Sea Hawk!”

“I, that’s all you’re gonna, I…” Alan was reduced to stuttering and stammering.

“Well,” Sea Hawk said with a smile that concealed the rising flames in his heart, “I think such a statement speaks for itself!”

Alan was crying on the floor, two stun marks on his body. He was crawling, whimpering, the hilt which had once been a saber defused. It had lasted under a minute. Alan had assumed a position, tried to strike efficiently, and had found himself confused by Sea Hawk’s eccentric posturing. Presuming to go for an easy win as he taunted, Alan found himself instantly parried and defeated, the blade striking and stunning him, sending him toppling to the floor.

“It’s break time!” Sea Hawk declared to the prisoners. “I’m having your food sent in. To make up for the lost time, you can have extra time off today. Just get back to work when I tell you to.”

Catra clapped softly at the display. The sailor turned around, and spotted her. He ran over to her and bowed dramatically, his mannerisms elegant and his politeness altogether too posh for Catra’s liking.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked over the sound of the fallen foreman’s groans.

“I would love some,” Catra said. “Earl grey, please.” Catra had never had tea in her life, but she wasn’t going to risk blowing her cover over something like that. Shadow Weaver had always preferred earl grey, so she selected that.

“Gladly!” Sea Hawk exclaimed. “Fair warning, it might be cold.”

Then, as though a courteous man, he ran over to a nearby wall. At first, Catra thought he was merely insane, but then he pressed a part of the wall which slid inward. Did an advanced Hegemony facility really have a secret tea button installed? Catra scoffed at that. For all their crimes, the worst punishment members of the Hegemony typically suffered was that their tea, from their _secret tea button_ , might get cold.

Indeed, the tea was cold, something the Force Captain noticed the moment she had it in her hands. Sea Hawk looked at it, and Catra sighed. He reached into his doublet’s pocket, and pulled from it a lighter. Catra, in shock, shook her head.

“Do _not_ try to heat up your tea with that thing,” she said. “You are going to light us both on fire.”

“It’s a small lighter. How would I light us on fire?”

Catra sighed. “I’m sure you’d find a way.”

“I suppose you’re correct,” Sea Hawk said.

Alan rose to his feet, and looked at Sea Hawk. He gritted his teeth, clenched his fist, and promptly gave up, realizing he didn’t want to be humiliated again. “I quit,” Alan said. “You can set my ship on fire too.”

Sea Hawk’s eyes widened.

“I was being sarcastic!” Alan growled indignantly. “Do not set my ship on fire.”

Sea Hawk’s mustache drooped ever so slightly.

Once the two were overlooking the miners on their calm break, Catra recalled what she had always thought. Men like Sea Hawk were rich creeps who used that money to lord it over people like her, people with nothing. Now, though, she saw that he had chosen to give not only a break, but a large break to the prisoners. Oh, with certainty, it was not truly kind; it was the basic minimum, and it would be far better if the prisoners were not forced to work at all. Still, this one seemed of a different sort to the typical affluent, arrogant atrocities which stemmed from the Hegemony.

“It’s so unjust,” he said, lamenting and blowing on his tea, seemingly having forgotten that it wasn’t hot.

Catra leaned over the railing and looked upon them all. It wasn’t right that she had to save only two. After all, they would all be beneficial to the Horde. Had Lord Hordak himself not declared so boldly that all creatures, no matter how small, had their place among his legions?

It was not as though the Hegemony needed these miners. The state of the Fright Zone called for manual laborers ten times more than that of the Hegemony did, and the Hegemony did not use these laborers even to build or to create, but to mine in pointless locations, digging deep into the planet, toiling mindlessly and unnecessarily. Despite the squalor and horror of the Fright Zone’s industrialism, Lord Hordak had never once utilized slavery, or at least, not this manner of it. Robots did his labor, or he himself. Any others who toiled for him were properly compensated. Lord Hordak had even built a proper prison.

No, it was clear what purpose the Hegemony held for the enslaved prison laborers. Beyond whatever pet project the Empress focused on, the purpose was to give them a meaningless task and watch as they struggled in perpetual agony. Men like Sea Hawk, they understood nothing of the sort.

“It’s so unjust,” he repeated. “I don’t like watching it. There is so much we could do with them, so much that would be more productive! Yet we spend all this time mining and mining! Fair Mermista despises it, and I do as well.”

“What could you do with them?”

“Well, they could follow in my example. I am a free man for my crimes, although that is because I happened to be childhood friends with the beautiful Princess. Still, if we freed them, gave them opportunities, they could become adventurers like you or I!”

 _You or I_. He thought they were the same. What a joke.

“I do not see why we do this to them. Every day, we go further and further, plumbing the depths and digging a hole we can never get out of.”

“Yeah,” Catra said, sipping her tea. It was flavorful, tremendous. It had the taste of what she was pretty sure was citrus. Relishing the opportunity to have Hegemony food, she sipped away at it.

“It is not right,” Sea Hawk said, slamming a fist upon the railing. “It is not right that the Empress rules!”

“Oh?” Catra asked. Perhaps this one could be persuaded to turn to the cause of the Horde.

“It is fair Mermista that should sit upon the throne; after all, she is the hero of Salineas and controls most of Etheria’s seas already!”

“Oh,” Catra said, sipping again at her cold tea.

“Mermista is not cruel. She would abolish these damned programs if she could! So would Netossa, Spinnerella, Frosta! It is the Empress that has forced us down this course. The Hegemony is a shining place, a place of safety and beauty, but she would render it a place of cruelty and malice!”

How grandiloquent of him. As though freeing every prisoner the Hegemony had wouldn’t cause overpopulation. As though it wouldn’t create starvation, resource drain, and riots. Catra would give the Hegemony some credit she would not give most empires. Most empires were crude constructions, merely people marching under a banner. The Hegemony, she had to admit, was safe and efficient.

Well, efficient was a relative term. Its military was incompetently run, with an emphasis on presence and numbers over actual statistical advantages. Its prisoners weren’t even put to work for good causes. As a matter of fact, the only thing Catra would really give it was trade. She had done some studying last night, brushing up on the Sea Wall, and realized that state-sanctioned industry was the thing that perhaps most drove the Hegemony. Of course, it was what drove Dryl too. Still, as she had noticed, the Horde’s mechanical domination would actually make it a viable economic opposition. If they had chosen to go into business with the Hegemony, rather than go to war with it, they would have been well off.

The Horde had such wondrous innovations. Their robots, if put to a task which was not war, would be beautiful. They could deliver medicine and supplies like none other. Their labor had no cost, for they were but machines; the most intelligent among them was Entrapta’s robot Emily, akin to a pet. Most of them were not truly sapient whatsoever. The Horde, if it had chosen to become a merchant empire, would have been so much better off, not to mention the convenience of just selling the robots themselves if necessary.

The Hegemony was efficient, Catra would grant that, but through her analysis, she had determined that the Horde had, even now, the capacity to outplay it in the field of trade. Of course, even if they did so, even if they grew greater than the mighty and warlike empire, they would then have to deal with the Hegemony declaring war for one reason or another.

In the end, that was the thing. Both parties had greater opportunities to improve Etheria, but neither would. They were crusaders, not traders or laborers. Angella and Hordak were diametrically opposed zealots; each served the command of a being from another dimension, hoping to bring unto them the will of an exterior entity. In the end, that was what they were, and that was why neither of them had chosen to put their talents where it would be useful.

Angella talked so often of the First Ones, yet Lord Hordak kept himself reserved about his origins. An intriguing contrast, so befitting of them. Hordak was shrewd, subtle, yet omnipresent, his spies everywhere and his tactics perpetually menacing, with a focus on small-scale intimidation. Angella, on the other hand, was flashy. She was on perpetual display, flourishing her power, and had a great overemphasis on the flair of her deeds. Catra was pretty sure the woman had never heard the word “subtle” in her life, and if she had, she’d dismissed it as cowardice.

“And then that damned Bow,” he said. “Reassigning so many soldiers to the Sea Wall when Hordak openly states he intends to sack Snows! It’s a power play, I know it is.”

“I hate power plays,” Catra said, in perhaps the most dishonest moment of her life. Still, she realized what he was saying a moment too late. This was indeed a trap.

“How did Bow make that decision?”

“He lied. He made up some contrived explanation using art!”

Catra had to admit he was right, which meant whatever deduction he had made was ever so unfortunately correct.

“One thing I’ll give Angella,” Catra said. “She doesn’t make the major mistake a lot of rulers would. She leaves each territory just independent enough to govern themselves, instead of overextending.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Sea Hawk retorted. “If she could, she would claim the crown of every kingdom. It’s only a matter of time! We cannot raise our flags in rebellion, for we would have to raise our flags against our own forces as well. It’s impossible. Sooner or later, she’s just going to make everything and everyone hers.”

“Make everything and everyone hers?”

“I see the way she looks at Glimmer. Envious of the child who had the ‘boldness’ to be her heir. She wants the world. Everything in it. She believes herself divine.”

“Well, she is,” Catra said.

“She has the wings of an angel, but she is the farthest from one in the world.”

“If not Mermista, who would you want on the throne?”

“Glimmer has the rightful blood, but she is far too unstable.”

Catra suspected that was an exaggeration. Sea Hawk’s next suggestion, however, shocked her to her very core.

“I say Adora deserves the throne. She is smart. She is She-Ra, after all. In fact, I’d say she is perhaps the best recruit we’ve had since goddess-like Mermista.”

Catra turned to him, holding back a hiss. All it would take would be a few slices of her claws. She could tear that pretty face off him. Of course people like him would love Adora. They all loved her. They thought she was so much better than Catra was. But Catra was better. She was always better!

Catra restrained herself. If she grew impulsive, if she attacked on instinct, she would ruin everything. She needed finesse. She had to bide her time.

“I mean, even Bow praises her for her lateral thinking. She’s a fearsome warrior and a tactical genius, and she doesn’t have the same insanity and greed that permeates Her Divinity’s very being.”

Sea Hawk took a sip of his tea, leaving some of it dripping from his mustache.

“What about you?” Catra asked.

That was the first thing about every member of the Hegemony. They played the role of loyalists, but the moment you suggested something that would give them power, they would change their tune. If Sea Hawk thought that Catra supported the idea of his reign, he would surely switch to talking about how he should be in charge, no matter the humility he feigned.

“Me?” Sea Hawk asked, raising an eyebrow in fascination.

“Yeah!” Catra said. “You’re very… _very_.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” he said. “I haven’t the blood for it, or the stomach, or the brain. I’m but a humble man who believes in the virtues of adventure! Imagine everything I’d have to give up to be a king or emperor! I wouldn’t wish it on my nemesis!”

“But you’d wish it on Mermista.”

“Well, yes. She wants that kind of power. My nemesis is down there, though, and he wants nothing of the sort! My nemesis, Admiral Scurvy. He’s also my ex! My ex and my archenemy, isn’t that strange?”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Catra said.

“Still,” Sea Hawk said, finishing off his tea, “I do think that all Mermista truly wants is autonomy. She wants the throne, but what she really wants is freedom. The Empress sits on the throne and controls every one of her vassals with an iron fist. To be free, Mermista would have to become Empress herself, as the Empress answers to none! In a dictatorship like the one we live in, the only person who is free is the one who rules it.”

“Would that change under her control?” Catra asked.

“Hopefully!” Sea Hawk said. “I mean, I wouldn’t know. Etheria has never seen an empire of this scale before.”

“How would you know that?” Catra asked.

“I minored in history,” Sea Hawk said with no pride whatsoever.

“What did you major in?” Catra asked, desperately hoping he wouldn’t have the answer she expected of him.

“ _Adventure_!” he exclaimed.

“Of course you did,” Catra said with a sigh. “Still, you really don’t want the throne? Don’t you want freedom?”

“I am free to do what I care about,” Sea Hawk said. “To roam the seas. To sail. It is part of why I am not yet prince, beyond the fact I am a humble commoner. I would love to win the hand of fair Mermista, but the duties of the prince would take me from my quests and crews. Crowns are heavy, you know.”

Catra once more barely held back a hiss. This man, who never starved, who had the opportunity to be prince of a land but turned it down. He was so entitled. A complete and utter imbecile. Perhaps he was worse than even the other rich people, as he was so genuine in all he said and did, as though there were people who did not starve. As though he did not lord over enslaved miners! What gave him the right to deny the title of prince?

“You’re fighting a war,” Catra said, stumbling now over her words. “You should become prince, it’s only right.”

“It’s not a war,” Sea Hawk said. “‘Tis but a game, my friend!”

Catra passed by, crossing to his other side, and with her right hand, gave Sea Hawk her teacup. He looked at her with some suspicion, yet his sheer airheadedness prevented him from noticing anything amiss. Catra leaned over the railing again.

“A game?” Catra asked.

“Of course,” Sea Hawk said. “In a war, people die. People don’t die in this one.”

Through the Force Captain’s mind flashed images of Huntara. Of the lights going out of her eyes. Of the hole in her abdomen. The way she fell. They had indeed thought it a game; the consequences for losing were dire to be sure, but they were not death. They hadn’t been friends. Rather, one could even argue that in their dying moments the two had been enemies. That didn’t matter to Catra.

 _You failed_ , she reminded herself. So preoccupied with her own safety, with her own power, that somebody else had died.

“This is a war in which everyone is safe,” Sea Hawk said.

Catra’s world turned red. She’d failed. She’d failed. People didn’t die on _Adora’s_ watch, now did they? No, people died in front of her, in front of a rogue, a worthless thief! Her hands began to shake as she looked at Sea Hawk. He was so disgustingly earnest, so nightmarishly oblivious and unaware that it sickened her to her very core.

So she punched him.

He struck the floor as the lights turned to a fearsome shade of red.

Sea Hawk instinctively reached for his saber. He had no such luck. Catra had it on her hip, having stolen it with her left hand as she transferred to him her cup of tea, although the tea cups were now nothing but shattered porcelain on the floor. He sprung to his feet like a swift rabbit, and Catra looked at him. So, he thought nobody was really getting hurt in all this?

Alan had left with his other weapon. Sea Hawk, it seemed, was not proficient in fistfighting. Neither was Catra. The two flailed mindlessly at one another for a few seconds, and then Catra swept his leg out from under him. She raised a clawed hand, and looked into those entitled, arrogant eyes of his.

So, he thought people didn’t die in this war?

There was no fear in his face, only a strange and misplaced sense of valor. There was an odd manner of repulsive bravery as he reached toward Catra’s hip, past the white robe. Catra moved her claws closer. All it would take would be a single swipe, and he would learn a lesson. He wouldn’t be so adventurous with only one eye, although it would probably suit the look of a seasoned sailor rather than a boyish, beautiful brat.

She had dealt it to Octavia, the treatment of removing an eye. It was unoriginal. Still, she supposed that she had greater missteps and sins; she had schemed against Shadow Weaver and Hordak alike, rejected Adora and turned her to a monster, and she had failed to recruit Entrapta. If she delivered unto Sea Hawk a fitting fate, if she broke him, it would be far from her worst crime. It was the lesson he needed to learn. In a way, she was helping him, teaching him the truth of the world.

“I see your claws,” he said.

“People like you are the worst sort of scum. You’re not even evil. You don’t have the guts to be evil! Being cruel, being a monster, oh, that takes some bravery! You can’t even make that choice, though. It’s funny. For all the bravery in your eyes, for all the courage in those hammy, overacting lungs of yours, you’re nothing but a coward. A child playing the role of hero in a fantasy facilitated in some fairy tale world! People like you disgust me.”

“You’re wrong,” Sea Hawk said. “I’m merely a believer. I believe in the good of the world.”

“It’s real easy to believe in the good of the world when you’re living in a nice part of it, ruling over slaves, with a title like prince in your future. You’ve never cared about people like me. You don’t care about the people in that pen. You sit there drinking your tea and talking about adventure! You know what you have? Wealth, power!”

“A lighter,” Sea Hawk said.

“A what?” Catra asked.

“A lighter.”

His doublet lit up, roaring with flame. Catra leapt back, hissing, and he responded by tearing the doublet from his form. No longer clad in it, Sea Hawk tossed it aside. His body had been touched by the fire, but he didn’t even seem to notice. Catra reached for his sword hilt, prepared for battle. Fortunately, it was then that the two heard screams from atop the stairs, and the clanking of metal.

Geodites and robots alike rushed down the stairs. Sea Hawk fought boldly, but was forced into unconsciousness with great speed. Atop the stairs was Shadow Weaver, in the maternal and kindly-looking form she had crafted in her glamor. She was followed by legions of geodites at her command. She had come to protect Catra. The Force Captain supposed there was a first time for everything.

“Get up,” she commanded in a bitter and harsh tone, one unbefitting of the disguise she had.

Catra followed suit, and Shadow Weaver left abruptly, most likely to tend to other business. Then, Catra looked to the prisoners. They weren’t even moving. They had watched an invasion, and they weren’t even moving. Why did they not rush to break free? Why did they not charge forth, spring from the gates of the Sea Wall and flock to the Horde for their first taste of salty air since they had been sentenced to these forsaken mines?

Then Catra saw the expression in Octavia’s eye. She didn’t care. None of them did. The few who made any attempt were unable to move, for the rest did not do so. They simply continued to toil away.

“Come on!” Catra yelled. “Get up and move!”

She leapt down the set of stairs directly from the platform to the mining zone. Its rocks and sea shells hurt her feet, and she approached the prisoners. There were moments of fear, fear that they may strike, that they may have been corrupted by the Hegemony and lash out at her. They did not. It was not that none wanted to, for perhaps they did; they simply did not have the spirit to do so.

“It’s just a break at best,” a birdman muttered.

“She’s comin’ down here,” said a snakeman.

“A little bit of respite,” spoke a man with the eyes of a toad. “Nothing more.”

“Come on,” Catra said.

Finally, she approached the latter of her targets, having left Scurvy behind. Octavia. She knew Octavia. She and the Force Captain hardly had cordial relations, but they recognized one another. Octavia blinked a few times, and then shook her head.

“It’s not worth it,” she said. “Trust me, kid, it’s not worth it. Give ‘em a couple hours, they’ll be back.”

“Octavia,” Catra said. “You’re a Force Captain. You fought for the Horde.”

“I know,” she said. “And you’re the brat who clawed my eye out.”

“I’m a Force Captain too now,” Catra said.

“So you grew up in the Fright Zone,” Octavia said. “I bet he’s hurting for ‘em now. You know, they say your little friend’s She-Ra, now. Never thought I’d be sharing a bunk with a She-Ra, but there you go.”

“Why won’t you get up?”

“Because, kid. There’s no point to it. Even if we manage to get out of here, what then? I can’t have a normal life in the Hegemony. The Horde’s never had anything resembling a normal life. Lord Hordak doesn’t care about any of us. Hell, you went to me. That isn’t because of generosity or camaraderie. You were just sent to get me. The jailbreak is all about me, isn’t it?”

“And Admiral Scurvy,” Catra quietly admitted.

“Because we’ve got what he wants. He doesn’t care about anybody else.”

“That’s not true!” Catra said.

“Kid, we both know it’s true. Don’t even bother.”

Catra felt herself be lit aflame by this notion. Moving backward, she seemed initially as though she was abandoning the miners to their fate. Then, however, she approached the button on the wall. Sure enough, it dispensed a chain and a pair of cuffs, silver and shining. The chain was ludicrously solid, the cuffs magnetically-sealing. Only someone of certain authority, authority Catra did not have, could uncuff someone once they had been cuffed. Moving back toward the prisoners, she showed it off as though it were a trophy, the foundations of a plan forming, a plan which was certainly risky, but could nonetheless have its reward.

“You all don’t care. You don’t think anybody else cares. That’s not true. There _is_ an escape from this. The Horde is standing. We’re fighting against the people who imprisoned and enslaved you! You think we don’t care? Well, _I_ care. You wanna see how much I care?”

First, she put a cuff around her ankle. Then, she moved down, right in front of Octavia. Calmly, she nodded to her. Then, Force Captain Catra moved to the front of their force.

“I care enough that I’m going to give everything up. If the rest of you don’t get to leave, _I_ don’t get to. None of you have any reason to care whether I make it out, but I care whether you make it out. So, come on! Get your sorry asses up, and let’s have a jailbreak!”

Catra looked to Admiral Scurvy. She saw a slight smile on his face as she cuffed herself to the leader. Then, it began.

Catra took the first step forward. She was pulled back, restricted by the chain. She moved forward, but again, she was pulled back. Then, she felt the restriction loosen. The person behind her had taken a step forward as well. Still, the two were pulled back again, held in place as they tried to move.

Catra stumbled over herself in her next attempt. She toppled to the ground of the mine, crashing against rocks and the undersea floor. Still, she rose again. She’d miscalculated. She should have known. These people couldn’t muster the faith, the trust, to leave. They were going to remain here, broken and tired as they were. No matter how she stepped forth, it was merely two people.

Until it was three.

Four.

Five.

Ten.

Twenty.

Fifty.

Ninety.

Two hundred.

Soon enough, all three hundred stepped in unison. Every step they took, they took together. Together, they made their way up the stairs. Together, up every floor, through the chaos and the geodites. Catra led a charge of three hundred prisoners whose primary dedication was to escaping their foul prison. The chain which had held them together to prevent their escape was now the thing that led it; without that very chain, Catra would never have found the tool to rally them. Still, they were under the impression she cared about them. Yet, as three hundred feet marched in unison, a tide greater than any the Princess of the seas could conjure, she came to realize that, somehow, she _did_. These people had saved her. Through a moment of bondage, the bondage they had suffered for so long, she had forged a bond far more unbreakable than the cuffs around their ankles and the chains which held them together.

They reached the sunlight. They breathed in the salty air of the sea breezes. At least a hundred among them shouted in triumph. They had done it! Through it all, against all odds, they had done it. They had escaped.

Shadow Weaver, whose pendant had been broken in the chaos, had cast aside her white robes and donned her mask. Upon seeing Catra at the head of the three hundred, she sighed and rolled her illusory eyes. It seemed perfectly in character for her to cause this sort of chaos.

Three hundred fists in the air marked their victory, and then they saw her. Clad in cyan ceremonial armor, with a helm that looked like the face of a vicious shark, and a fin along her back, Princess Mermista stood atop a mighty spout of water, carrying her trident in her hand. Shadow Weaver prepared for battle. The escapees looked on in horror as she rose above them, and landed atop the Sea Wall. She looked at them, and Catra saw Sea Hawk rush to her side, lighter in hand. Fire and water stood together, and Mermista raised her hand into the air.

There was silence as they prepared. Would it be war? If so, the escapees couldn’t overpower the water itself. While they might eventually get the Princesses, they wouldn’t be able to defeat her. That was not to mention that if a Princess or her beloved happened to be slain in the ensuing madness, the Hegemony would no doubt see it as a violation of the pact they had made with the Horde. There was nothing to do but hope they would win the battle, and it was certain that few prisoners would escape if a fight started. Catra again thought she had miscalculated.

Until Mermista gestured to Shadow Weaver. They took a few moments to realize it, but when they did, it was momentous. She stepped aside, and took the burned Sea Hawk with her as she left in an oceanic whirlwind. Thousands of voices became one as all the prisoners screamed in victory, cheering for their beautiful, newfound freedom.

Shadow Weaver raised a single finger, and slashed all the chains with bladed tendrils, which snuck between the prisoners’ feet like serpents. Catra and Octavia took Admiral Scurvy to the sorcerer, and Catra turned to the crowd.

“You can run when you steal a ship. Save yourselves. Or, if you’re brave, you can come to the Fright Zone, and you can help us fight. The Horde saved your lives! Sure, you can find freedom in running, but if you want to repay this debt, if you want to find true freedom, if you want to defy the Hegemony, if you want vengeance, or if you want to be heroes, then come join us! Or throw rocks at a Princess! Every little bit counts! My name is Force Captain Catra, and I’m a leader in the Etherian Horde, the Horde that saved your life!”

Surprisingly, it was a little old lady with pink skin, surrounded by flies, who first approached, hobbling along on her walking stick. She turned to the crowd, and pumped her fist in the air. The perverted unity had been broken, and freedom was true and beautiful now. They all knew it, although Catra was honestly shocked that even the Hegemony would enslave the elderly.

Surely having misheard the name, the old woman chanted something entirely different. “Cat-Ra!” she exclaimed, pointing at Catra.

It caught on with the crowd with surprising speed.

“Cat-Ra!”

“Cat-Ra!”

“Cat-Ra!”

Shadow Weaver glared harshly at her apprentice, who simply shrugged. Taking a piece of black chalk, the sorcerer scrawled symbols below their feet, and, with an incantation, took the party away from the Sea Wall. They landed in the throne room of Lord Hordak, who sat upon his throne.

The rush died down when Catra found herself in the gray throne room again. Lord Hordak looked to them, and saw the cut cuffs around their ankles. Curiously, as he examined them, he seemed to notice that Catra had one as well. His eye for detail was on point. Crossing his legs and clasping his hands, he breathed in sharply.

“So,” he said. “My drones witnessed that stunt.”

Shadow Weaver grabbed Catra by the collar. “You _idiot_!” she exclaimed. “You saved three hundred when you were meant to save two! What if that hadn’t worked?”

Shadow Weaver flew across the room.

Octavia had punched her.

“Stay down,” she told the sorcerer, who reluctantly agreed to do so after a couple attempts to get to her feet.

It had stemmed from a falsehood, yet it had become so much more. Catra kneeled before Lord Hordak. Perhaps she would be punished. After all, she had so directly risked the entire mission in what was, deep down, an attempt to come up with an outcome that proved her right. She hadn’t really expected it to work, in all honesty. It was a poorly thought-out gambit, one that could have risked the entire Horde.

“Catra,” he said sternly.

Catra looked up. She shook as his voice reverberated throughout the room, his strength greater than it had ever been before. He could have her executed right now if he so desired, and from the look on his face, she thought he might.

“Y-yes, Lord Hordak?”

“I advise against taking such risks again,” he said, unclasping his hands. “Your performance was beyond incredible. You have gone beyond simply succeeding in this mission. My drones, my spies across the globe, they are all reporting the same thing. The Sea Wall is populated by countless. Everyone in Salineas saw that. Some recorded it with magical devices, and they’re going to spread it. Without a single life lost, you’ve increased our recruitment substantially, and struck a blow against the Hegemony. No more must we be the faction of shadows and demons. Now they see us as liberators and rebels. I even…”

He trailed off, looking at Octavia and Scurvy.

“Go debrief with Force Captain Scorpia,” he told them.

“You came back for us,” Octavia said.

Hordak turned aside, hesitant. For a moment, the thought of telling her the truth, that he did not care for anything but their information, clearly and visibly crossed his mind. Despite that, he did nothing of the sort.

“I would not leave you behind,” he said.

Lies. That was their tool. Catra reminded herself exactly who she served. Although they were at the moment in the light again, she was still fighting alongside the Horde. As Scurvy and Octavia exited the room, she looked up to Lord Hordak. Shadow Weaver rose to her feet, and prepared to speak, but wisely decided otherwise, instead leaving.

“It was a falsehood, wasn’t it?” he asked. “It began with a lie.”

“Yes,” Catra said.

“As much as I hate deception, that is what drives wars. No matter what I loathe, I will permit that we do these things for the purpose of victory. You may rise. I am promoting you, Catra, to Force Commander.”

“Th-thank you, Lord Hordak!”

Hordak groaned and leaned on his fist, his right elbow against the throne as the doors shut behind Shadow Weaver.

“Do not be too honored, Force Commander. The worst is yet to come. I was contacted today by Princess Entrapta. She will be resuming trade with us. We will be receiving materials and goods, enough to build a minimalist commercial system.”

“In exchange for what?” Catra asked.

“In exchange for me,” Hordak said. “I made her a vow. I promised that now, my goal was to end the war, and that when it ended, I would come to Dryl and abandon the Horde.”

“Abandon the Horde?” Catra asked. “That’s impossible. You founded it. You’re the face of it! Nobody could succeed you!”

“I am as representative of the Horde as Angella of the Hegemony, indeed. That is part of why I have agreed to this. If the war ends, if it ever ends, I will not have the right to lead. I lead the Horde as a military, for I am a military thinker. The Horde will need to become something else in a time of peace. Beyond that, since I got here, I have been a horseman of war and death alike. Now, I wish to see what my life is like beyond war.”

“What about Horde Prime?” Catra asked.

“That is something I am going to solve with the information that I receive from the prisoners. I will explain it to you later, Force Commander. At the moment, we talk off the record. I am greatly impressed by what you have done, but it is a temporary respite. The Hegemony’s brutality and dominance will only be enhanced in the end. When the new recruits realize that we are not the heroes you have painted us as, they will likely leave.”

“Right,” Catra said. “We’re not heroes. That was a lie. It’s all a lie.”

For a moment, she had forgotten. She had thought that they were heroes. The Horde, heroes? A laughable notion. This was Etheria. There were no heroes.

“For now, Force Commander, celebrate your promotion with your friends.”

“Friends?” Catra asked.

“Lonnie and Rogelio, the two recruits you most often spend your time with, were watching enthusiastically through a drone stream, one of many I prepared for the troops.”

“Do you always watch us with drones?” Catra asked.

“Rarely,” he said. “In fact, this is the only time I have done it in the past twenty years. I received a report from a scout in Salineas that something was happening, and I decided to monitor it. I have the footage recorded, as well. We have propaganda now.”

“We always had propaganda,” Catra said.

Hordak chuckled. “ _Good_ propaganda.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes, Force Commander. You are dismissed from duty. Oh, and one last thing, entirely off any record. If they were to tell tales of this meeting, this would have to be entirely left out.”

“Yes, Lord Hordak?”

“I am proud of you.”

Catra walked away. Maybe she wasn’t a hero. Maybe she was still working for some of the bad guys. Now, though? Now, the bad guys liked her. Hordak was proud of her. Shadow Weaver would be enraged, but then again, she was always enraged with Catra.

“Lord Hordak?” she asked as she reached the door.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Thank you.”

**~Hegemony~**

Adora was surrounded. A dozen Horde tanks on her left. Lord Hordak himself ahead of her, clad in a mighty black and red cape. Catra and Scorpia were at her back.

And with the word “go,” she would unleash them for the ninth time today.

Her muscular form was badly bruised. There were scratches across her right arm. The Sword of Power had carved through at least sixty tanks with no sign of wear, but even her own fast healing could not withstand the nigh-deadly force she had Light Hope use on her. Oh, it broke her body, but she could regenerate, and she exploited that. The thing she desired most of all was power, and to gain that power, to earn the throne, she needed to be stronger than the Empress soon. If she couldn’t overpower Angella, she had little worth. She turned to face Catra first, ready to strike her down once more.

Etheria needed She-Ra.

Footsteps came from behind her. Instinctively, she whirled around. The flat of her blade was an inch from the face of the intruder on her session; none other than Bow had done so. His body was folded unnaturally into the hologram of Hordak.

“Easy there,” Bow said, slight worry in his voice. “I really think we’d both regret that.”

“Well, you would,” Adora said with a chuckle as the sword returned to the form of a bracer.

“How long you been training?” Bow asked.

“Seven hours,” the automated voice of Light Hope said, as all the holograms faded. Adora finally sat down, the form of She-Ra leaving her. She was tired, almost tired enough to faint.

Adora was not powerless without She-Ra. By no means was that a factor. Yet, still, it seemed she had overworked herself. She would have to take care not to make such an error again.

“That’s a lot of time,” Bow said. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Adora said. “I’m good.”

“You don’t look good.”

“Thanks for the honesty,” she said sarcastically.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Bow asked, sitting down next to her. “A test my dad Lance took. He talks about how he was really worried about passing his final when he was in college.”

“What’d he study?” Adora asked.

“First Ones history was his major, and my other dad’s too,” Bow said. “That’s kinda rare, too. Everyone has to take it, but usually they make it their minor.”

“You have academies?” Adora asked.

“Well, we do, but they’re a lot less staffed. Anyone with magical potential gets shipped right to Mystacor nowadays, and the schools are running out of funding.”

“Oh, okay,” Adora said.

“Well, anyways, dad, Lance, he studied for the test, and he used some energy drinks to try and stay awake. Issue is he drank so many energy drinks that he couldn’t sleep at all. So, during the test--”

“He fell asleep?” Adora asked, likely knowing how this story ended.

“No, no. He puked his guts out. Then he went back and passed.”

“So what’s the moral of this story?” Adora asked.

“Why do you think there’s a moral?”

“Fair enough.”

“Actually, I came to tell you the Empress has called a meeting. Apparently, there was a massive incident at the Sea Wall. You’re gonna wanna see this. It’s insane.”

The video was done quickly, and Adora couldn’t help but quietly applaud Catra. So, it seemed she’d developed a little. That was good. It’d make it a lot easier to convert her to the heroes’ side. The Empress, however, was not exactly overjoyed.

Angella wore now a white and pink dress, accompanied by a corset, with shades of blue around the collar. In addition, there was a small skull pendant around her neck. It looked quite sinister, but none sought to question her about it. Princess Mermista and Sea Hawk were nowhere to be seen, fortunately for them.

The other Princesses were sitting in awe. Bow looked uncomfortable. Even Da’el, performative chef that they were, was staring in shock, albeit with a slight hint of a smirk on their blue-skinned face. Once the projection crystal shut off the video, Adora looked at Angella, trying to gauge her response as Bow casually handed Glimmer a bright red rose with a note on it.

The Empress slammed the table with significant ferocity when she saw that, causing the rose to fall from Glimmer’s hand to the table. Angella picked it up, and Perfuma stared on in indignance and surprise as she sniffed the rose.

“With a special scent too,” she said. “Very nice. Princess Perfuma must have hand-made this rose.”

Angella shoved it in Bow’s face, then Glimmer’s. Then, she shoved it in Da’el’s. They sniffed it in pure confusion. At last, she put it to Adora’s face. Its scent was that of multiple elegant flowers combined, absolutely beautiful in smell. Angella then dropped it on the floor and stomped upon it with her white and long boot. Bow was startled by this, looking on angrily at Angella, yet holding his tongue. Da’el left to get more food. Adora noticed that, the entire time, Bow had a small gray device on his wrist, no doubt the comm device intended for communication with Kyle, who was with certainty listening today.

“Princess Mermista will be disciplined,” Angella said. “As will Sea Hawk. Their failure is intolerable and flagrant. Now, I want to know exactly how this happened. _Glimmer_!”

Glimmer raised her hands in the air, still sparkling. So she had been holding back an attack. Angella sighed.

“Glimmer, Glimmer, Glimmer. My child, dearest child.”

Angella reached out a hand, and patted her hair. Glimmer recoiled from her mother’s touch, and Angella responded to that insult by backhanding her. It wasn’t the first time Adora had seen this method of discipline, but seeing the red mark across Glimmer’s face, she couldn’t help but feel even worse for yesterday’s stunt.

“Stupid girl!” Angella said, yet as she turned away, Adora spotted something in her eye. As Angella clenched her fist, she realized that her hand was shaking. Oh, she would not spare too much sympathy for the vile Empress; after all, no matter the circumstances, such a deed was altogether monstrous, and she was a monstrous woman. Still, she wondered if the others could not see what she did.

“Stupid girl,” she said.

Yet, there was something in the way she looked at Glimmer that so unsettled Adora. It had the faintest inkling of the way Catra looked at Adora, a love combined with pure, utter hatred and envy. Still, such thoughts were irrelevant to the meeting’s matter of discussion.

“Beyond this, I have found evidence that someone transferred troops without my consent to the Sea Wall. An attempt at sabotage. I must assume it was Glimmer that did this.”

“Your Divinity,” Bow said, standing up. He looked her right in the eyes. He knew everything she could do to him. He shook in fear, yet he still stood, and with a sharp breath inward, he prepared to confess.

“Yes, Bow?” asked Angella.

“I did it. That was me.”

“I see,” Angella said. Seamlessly, she switched tactics. “Glimmer, Bow is your friend. I hold you responsible.”

Bow sighed and sat back down. He was irrefutably calm in an odd way. Still, as Angella walked over to him, approaching from behind his chair, Adora wanted to stand and defend him. Oh, he had his flaws to be sure, but he had been willing to stand up to the resplendent Empress, who most of his people worshipped, just to defend the person he loved. No matter who did it, such a thing was an admirable deed.

“You are grounded, Glimmer. You will go to your chamber and stay there.”

Adora was relieved. That was much better than what she had feared. Still, Angella treated her daughter of nineteen as though she were a helpless, worthless child. Glimmer left the meeting grumbling, and Adora couldn’t help but look at the red mark along her cheek. This was the woman she would betray in time. All for a good cause, she reminded herself.

“Now, I am going to say this once and ensure it is heard by everyone here. I do not tolerate failure. I certainly do not tolerate this sort of borderline treason. Would anyone like to speak in Mermista’s defense?”

“I would,” said Bow, clearly irritated. “She and Sea Hawk faced over three hundred people. Even a Princess would know that’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Thank you for your input, Bow.”

One moment, affable and maternal. The next, a raving psychopath. Most people weren’t like this. While there were negative things to say of Princess Glimmer, she was sane most of the time. Anything bad in her was simply brought by the teachings of the Empress, and she could likely adjust if free from her control. Perhaps that was what Adora would do once she took charge; she would merely exile Glimmer.

No, that risked starting another civil war. Resigning herself, Adora realized that the best option, albeit one of two, was to imprison Glimmer. The other was ten thousand times more sordid, and she would not commit to it while another remained.

“I see,” Angella said. “I see. I suppose I will lighten their punishment. I will even let them keep their titles. Yes, I suppose, yes. Still, this is among the worst things they have done. Imprison half the citizens of Salineas.”

“What?” Frosta asked.

“They showed the footage. They spread it. They are partially responsible for this, and since the Sea Wall recently had a block of its mining prisoners liberated, I think we ought to rebuild that number. In addition, it will show Mermista and Sea Hawk their potential fate.”

“Not all of them showed it,” Spinnerella said.

“True,” Angella said. “However, that misses one important detail. I don’t care. I want half the citizens of Salineas imprisoned by the end of the week.”

“What if it’s an odd number?” Netossa asked.

Angella turned around.

“Excellent question, my child,” she admitted.

“I’m thirty-six,” Netossa said. The Empress ignored her completely.

“If there is an extra citizen in Salineas? Exile them to Beast Island and _make the number even_. Any other questions?”

“We’ve lost a huge amount of money on the Sea Wall mining project,” Bow said. “In addition, Dryl is opening trade with the Fright Zone again.”

“Neither of those are questions,” the Empress said.

“Right,” Bow responded. “They are important reports for a council meeting, though.”

“Bring the economic factors to Glimmer. Not tonight, though. We have plans for tonight.”

“We do,” Bow said.

Plans? So it seemed Bow was indeed the advisor of the Empress. Her right hand, as it were. It conflicted with everything Adora knew of him, yet somehow, he seemed to have ingratiated himself to Angella as well.

“You are all dismissed,” Angella said.

“Understood,” responded Bow and Adora at the same time.

As they left, Adora knew the stakes of the conflict had risen. She would need to train even more. Not merely her physical prowess, however; to run an empire was a difficult task, and it required more factors. If honing her blade was half the war, then to hone her mind was next. If Glimmer handled the financial matters of the empire, and the empire’s economy was so solid, then it was a fair conclusion that Glimmer was good with financial matters.

Bow to Angella’s chambers. Adora to Glimmer’s. How ironic.

**~Hegemony~**

Into the Whispering Woods wandered a small old woman, a cane in her hand. She had come to find her home, a home that was not there. That didn’t matter to her, though; time was of no relevance whatsoever to the one known as Madam Razz.

The hermit sat down where her home had once been. It had been crushed oh so long ago by a fragment of a massive white ship, but again, that was of no consequence whatsoever to her. As she walked in, she saw a nest of small birds in the shining white tail end of the ship. It had been severed from the rest of the ship, and it had become, in a way, her new home. She had set everything up. Still, even she found the image of black wings on the wall unsettling.

What had happened today? Ah, yes, the cat had come to save her. Honestly, she was unsure she had ever been captured until she was rescued.

Taking a seat in her home atop a rather uncomfortable white chair, Razz recalled where and when she was, at least at the moment. Ah, yes. It will be the future, or it was the past, or is it the present? She is never quite sure. There was only one thing she was entirely sure of, and she will always remember it.

This is, was, and will be a tale of the She-Ra.


	10. Murmurs of a Murder Mer-Mystery

Bow spoke. “So, here’s the deal. Someone’s murdered Empress Angella. Dead. She’s dead. They brought her body out, threw it into the gutter. We have no idea who did it.”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Adora. “But she was so kind!”

Laughs, collectively stifled.

“Ah, the tragedy!” Da’el exclaimed, playing right along. “Who would _murder_ the _universally beloved_ Empress Angella?”

The Council was unable to stifle their laughs at that remark. That only made sense, as everyone erupted into laughter. Beyond Sea Hawk, the entire Council was here, from Adora to Kyle.

“Hush!” Adora said. “The murderer may still be among us! It will take a proper detect-hive to track them down!”

“Detective,” Bow said politely. “The word you’re looking for is detective.”

“Thanks,” Adora said dryly.

“Alright. Look at your card. Keep its contents secret. We don’t wanna tell anyone what our role is. Now, as we know, the murderer must _still_ be in this very room with us!”

“Okay, real talk,” Princess Mermista said. “We’re, like, dealing with a crisis over in Salineas, and you summoned all of us to a palace to do a homebrew version of the licensed Mer-Mystery party game? Why?”

Bow chuckled. “First off, because Adora signed a licensing deal with the Mer-Mysteries company. She-Ra is on their products, and in exchange I get a discount on their new party game. I figured it shouldn’t go to waste. Second, because I came up with a great premise for one and we need to team-build.”

“I’m gonna have this done in five minutes flat,” Netossa said.

“Please,” responded Mermista. “I’ve read every mystery novel there is.”

“Easy, easy,” Glimmer said. “Clearly, we need to take it slow, because _I’m_ going to win. After all, _my_ boyfriend made the campaign and _my_ mother is the one who died.”

“I just made the scenario,” Bow said. “I know, normally I’m the game master, but I just wanted to be involved with this one. There’s nothing I’m gonna know that any of you don’t. I passed out the cards randomly. Whoever got ‘murderer,’ it’s unknown to me.”

“So, what’s the scenario?” Adora asked.

“Okay,” Bow said. “So, short version, and thank you to Light Hope for letting me turn her off to use the library, she’s the best, _someone_ has murdered the Empress. I’ve given the murderer a few possible elaborate backstories and motives as to exactly _why_ they did it.”

“Well, this is topical,” Mermista said.

“Please!” Netossa exclaimed with competitive fervor. “I’ve got a profile on every one of you.”

“I know that, Netossa,” Bow said. “That’s why I created the elaborate backstories, so you couldn’t just pull up some file on us.”

“I would do that,” Netossa admitted.

“Cool,” Frosta said. “Why is the chef in here with us?”

Bow shrugged. “Spinnerella couldn’t make it, so I pulled Da’el in as a replacement. They said they’re familiar with party games, which tracks considering they’re, you know, a professional on the stage.”

“Oh, I’m frankly delighted by this occurrence,” Da’el said. “Speaking of which, where’s Sea Hawk?”

“Still in recovery,” Mermista said. “He got pretty badly burned at the Sea Wall, and as far as bravado and adrenaline can push you, it wasn’t far enough.”

“Ah, I see,” responded Da’el. “So he’s _literally_ hot stuff now.”

Mermista shot Da’el a lethal glare. They responded by raising their hands into the air and backing away, shooting the Princess a mocking glance. Glimmer just sighed.

“Ah, no. Mother. No. Stop. Police. I must mourn.”

More laughter. The library was filled with uncomfortable cheer as the massive doors automatically locked themselves. Through countless books, massive bookshelves everywhere, and a massive floor space, not to mention a silver terminal in the center, which Bow had helped rebuild to give Light Hope more power, it was the perfect place to conduct a murder mystery exercise. Glimmer agreed with that.

Still, he had deliberately chosen a topic nobody would be comfortable with. While Bow didn’t tell her everything, Glimmer knew her boyfriend well enough to know that there was more to this than it seemed; after all, he was a man of schemes. He was a man of affable demeanor and ruthless cunning, yet on some level inimitable kindness as well.

Bow. Her Bow. So beautiful, bordering on perfect in appearance. From the way his eyes pierced, to the elegant flowery smell of his acutely styled hair, to the comfort of his gentle arms. Everything he said and did, he did with precision. There was something so incredible about him in the light, yet it was in the darkness where he was truly impressive.

Bow was something of a philosopher, or at least he fancied himself such; it was in shadows and in the moon’s pale light that Bow’s reality came out to all, especially her. He was a scholar, no, ten times a mere scholar. He could pontificate on the simple art of the moon itself, a moon which stood above Etheria with its cold, managing the very tides which they lived upon. If the moon were torn away, he said, the world would have the sun forever, yet the tides would rise and the world would perhaps be flooded. Was it worth it to plunge the world into chaos and mayhem, to destroy everything that was crafted, just for that little bit of light? Not to mention that, as he so often said, if the sun were there eternally, it would perhaps come to burn the entire world.

Of course, Glimmer wasn’t much for philosophy. She knew a lot about economics, a lot about the technical details of running a kingdom. Most of all, however, she was a warrior. She had trained for years. Defeated every Princess in a duel in merely her teens. If they let her out onto the battlefield, there would be no Horde. In spite of that, the Empress held her back. Not out of care; Glimmer didn’t suspect for a moment that the woman had a heart in that cold chest of hers. No, it was because she knew that Glimmer would tear away the sun’s rays from her, and if so given the opportunity would display her true prowess. With that very prowess shining brightly like a mad diamond, there was reason to suspect Glimmer would be able to conquer the Hegemony with little more than the approval of her peers and seniors.

Still, that wasn’t the focus. Today, she was doing a humble murder mystery. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just a fun little party game.

Why was it, then, that she suspected Bow had something up his metaphorical sleeve? She said metaphorical because, as literally as she could mean it, Bow was currently wearing a white shirt cut at the abdomen, with no sleeves. There was an upside-down blue heart in the middle, as well as a small skull bracelet on his wrist.

“So, anything else we need to know before I utterly destroy you?” Netossa asked.

“Yes. To ensure that nobody runs out on the mystery, I’ve locked the doors. Empress Angella is asleep in her chambers, and will just assume she missed today’s meeting.”

“How do you know that?” Adora asked.

“He had me drug her tea,” Da’el said. “Quite the chemist, this one.”

“I dabble,” Bow said. “I got the exact dosage right.”

Glimmer had to admit the idea of Bow tranquilizing her mother made her uncomfortable. Not the notion of herself being drugged, strangely enough. Bow was at times the sole actor in her best interest, and he knew when she got the worst of her skull-splitting headaches. In a way, it was almost a form of protection that he performed. She had perhaps inherited some of her mother’s madness, though that was unlikely. Thankfully, Bow didn’t do that anymore; he’d actually gotten a medication crafted to ease her pain.

“So, we good to start?”

“Yes,” Bow said. “Find us the evidence, the murderer’s identity, their weapon, and their motive. Team build. Do not be afraid to work with other people.”

“What do we do if we have everything?” Adora asked.

“Consult each other and make the accusation. Every time an accusation is made, we take a vote. Anyone voted down who turns out to be innocent hands in their card and removes themself from play. I’ve set up data pads with some reading and some games. I also had Da’el make some food, which is over by the elimination area. If we don’t succeed in three hours, the murderer wins.”

“Got it,” Glimmer said. “I’m fired up!”

“Let’s do this,” Netossa said. “I give it twelve minutes.”

Bow casually snapped his fingers, unleashing them all. It wasn’t long before they split into groups; Bow and Glimmer immediately paired up. Netossa went out on her own. Adora and Kyle quickly joined Bow and Glimmer’s group. Fragile alliances. Glimmer wondered if this was the right course of action. The Council already didn’t really trust one another.

Mermista and Frosta were joined together with Perfuma in an instant. Bow seemed somewhat reluctant not to be partnered with Perfuma as well, but he was quickly persuaded otherwise when he noticed Da’el hamming their way into the group. Well, that was quite the chaotic combination.

The first step to finding evidence was finding a way to navigate the library. Glimmer had been there before, but she had never quite understood how _big_ the thing was. It was beyond mortal understanding, its contents only truly comprehensible to an immortal, one who hardly cared for it.

“So,” Kyle said. “How are you doing?”

He was scratching at his neck with his right hand. Glimmer could recognize a sign of anxiety. Still, she narrowed her vision. The others trusted Kyle. She had voted him onto the Council, but that was because she wanted to keep an eye on him. She didn’t trust him at all.

Adora? Fine. Adora, she would take care of when the time came. Adora seemed nice enough, not too ambitious. Kyle didn’t seem too ambitious either, but Glimmer supposed that was part of why she didn’t like him. He wasn’t like Adora. Adora had her reasons to defect. Everything she did, she did because she was She-Ra. Kyle just defected from the Horde because of what? Because of bullying, of mistreatment? She had been bullied. She had been mistreated. Every day of her life, she had been mistreated. She hadn’t defected.

Of course, where was she supposed to go? The Horde? The Horde were a bunch of barbarians, a military culture. Oh, Lord Hordak saw his path; he saw burning villages, royals turned to ash. He saw the shadows which followed his every step sweeping across the land and encompassing it in a monstrous shroud. There was no art to the Horde, no academics beyond that which was necessary. They had no plan for after they saw the shroud. They had no vision beyond that which they were told. All the Horde knew was violence. Glimmer had pictured a world ruled by Lord Hordak. It was a world dominated by a legion of monsters which had no more heroes to slay, Etheria overtaken by those with no more plan for it than mindless destruction and ruination. In her mind’s eye, she could see a glimpse of their foul designs. A world that burned eternally with the fires of war, for they would not stop at Etheria, thousands of people reduced to soldiers, the steel boots of machines marching through the Whispering Woods as Lord Hordak displayed proudly his prize, the taken city of Bright Moon, to all. No, Lord Hordak could not withstand the light. Its very existence wounded him, for he knew it not and envied it so; he was the manner of man who, if he won the war for Etheria, would turn his weapons toward every star in the sky, and would seek to purge the mere idea of good.

Okay, so admittedly, she didn’t know Hordak personally.

Still, there was a point to be made there. Colored as her view must have been by the Hegemony, which she admitted to herself, the Horde was unstable. Its only ruler was the one who could keep control through force and intrigue. They didn’t know how to run a nation without war. It would fall apart. The Hegemony was awful, and if she had the throne, she would reform it. The Hegemony, however, was an orderly sort of awful. The Horde? The Horde was chaos.

“Okay, so I just set up the scenario and had servants prepare the rest. The murder weapon, the motive, the killer, the clues, all unknown to me. That said, if I were to get looking, I’d start by Light Hope’s terminal.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because of the massive red stain under it.”

Glimmer looked, and discovered that there was indeed a red stain under the terminal. The newfound squad rushed over, and Adora examined the blood. Kyle yelped slightly at the sight of it, and jumped back.

Glimmer reminded herself that Kyle couldn’t possibly be a traitor. Being a traitor required basic dignity. Kyle lacked the bravery and intelligence to play the role of the spy amongst their ranks.

As she looked at Bow do his investigating, Glimmer couldn’t help but recall how he had become the man he was today. Bright, intelligent, but that didn’t occur on its own. So often did they speak of what he did for the Princesses, but rarely of what they did for him. Netossa taught him his skills of analysis, the research to bend people to his will. Perfuma taught him botany and chemistry alike, in addition to teaching him beauty routines in case he needed them. Mermista taught him, interestingly enough, how to swim as a hydrokinetic did, free and strong in the waves. Then, as though to continue this path, Spinnerella taught him how to dance, to keep balance and precision, a cool head at all times, to adjust the moment he missed a step. Frosta taught him to punch things very well; it was a skill that was undervalued when it came to political intrigue, yet proved exceptionally useful when it came to the art of war. Sometimes, one needed little more than to punch someone else _very_ well.

Glimmer knew that more than anyone.

Of course, that wasn’t what set him on his path. No, that was the path he walked, but what set him upon it was a tragedy in his youth. The Empress came to survey his village. He watched it burn. He watched every home fall apart, and he saw at the head of the chaos the devilish Lord Hordak. His village was but ash, the dirt bubbling and boiling. From the overlord’s red right hand came fire and fury, and for a moment, Bow said he felt as though the magma below Etheria would rise from the sulfuric ground and swallow him whole.

The Empress had brought Bow to the royal hall on request from the boy’s fathers. Just five at the time, he was curious, ever so curious, and ever so enthusiastic to see the Empress’s glittering and gleaming hall, even moreso to see the Princess. She recalled the way he had first blushed upon realizing who exactly he gazed upon.

Since she was five herself, Glimmer had but one who truly loved her. It was not that none among the Hegemonic Council did so; they were too afraid, however, to express it openly. Bow was afraid, but not so afraid that he stepped into cowardice. He stood before the entire council dozens of times, and he challenged the words of “Her Divinity” openly.

“Glimmer,” Bow said. “Glimmer, what do you think of this?”

A scrap of the Empress’s robe. Pink cloth. Nothing more, except it was stained with red. Da’el looked upon it with great curiosity as though it would somehow open their eyes. Glimmer took it into her hands.

“Nothing conclusive,” Glimmer said.

“I think we need to cover more ground,” Da’el said, looking to the side.

“Alright, gang,” Adora said. “Let’s split up and search for clues.”

Indeed, they did so, traveling across the library apart. Glimmer sought clues, yet every group wanted to keep their own to themselves. They wanted the honor of having solved the mystery. They cared more about who solved it than its conclusion. A most intriguing character flaw. One easily exploitable if necessary.

Before long, however, Netossa was alongside Glimmer, looking through dozens of books. They sought any misplaced piece, any bit of evidence that could be spread throughout the gargantuan library. Netossa, much taller than Glimmer, dug through the books with their typical precision and focus, seemingly not even noticing the crown princess, until she turned to the side.

“Have you noticed how Bow’s been acting lately?” she asked.

“What?” responded Glimmer, backing away slightly.

“Yeah,” Netossa said. “Lately he’s been getting more erratic. Stressed. Anxious. Not to pry, but how many times has he gotten to your chambers late?”

“A few,” Glimmer admitted.

“You think he’s working for you?” Netossa asked. “I know Bow. He’s always up to something.”

“He loves me,” Glimmer said.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that at all,” Netossa said, looking between books at a rapid pace. “But loving you doesn’t mean he’s working for you. Think about it. What happens if you win? If you beat Angella someday?”

“I become queen, and he becomes king.”

“Except he won’t, will he? Because you’ll be forging an alliance via marriage. That would leave you married to another royal, probably a Princess. And it’d leave him out of luck, wouldn’t it?”

“I’d never leave Bow,” Glimmer said.

“And I’m sure Angella said the same thing about her husband,” Netossa responded.

Glimmer clenched her fists.

“We are _nothing alike_ ,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, you’re sparkling _angrily_ now,” Netossa said. “Calm down, Glimmer. I’m not trying to say you’re really that alike. That’s just the way things go in the Hegemony. Now, here’s the thing with Bow. You can’t trust him. He’s always working with someone else.”

“I trust Bow,” Glimmer said.

“Alright,” Netossa said, raising her hands. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Got your clues, by the way,” she said, brandishing a small dagger hidden in one of the books.

With that, she sped off.

Adora, meanwhile, was searching a nearby table. She suspected that Bow’s servants had left evidence somewhere around it, as the bloodstain beneath Light Hope’s terminal had a small, nigh-invisible trail of bloodstains. She had noticed Glimmer go off to search the shelves, and Da’el following along, before disappearing behind a different shelf entirely. Plenty of places to hide, and to hide evidence.

On the table was a book. A clue, no doubt. The book was a famously banned text according to what Glimmer had told her. It was entitled _Remains of Paradise_ , and it told an apocryphal tale of how Lord Hordak was a fallen angel. The culprit of the murder, had they been reading this particular piece, was no doubt motivated by being a Horde sympathizer. However, it was also famous for its depiction of Lord Hordak as having two sides to him, one angelic and pure, the other shadowed and dark. They were split, at the end of the book, into two personalities, and the shadowed one claimed victory, eradicating any trace of his white-clad angelic persona in a blast of red fire.

That last part was just silly.

Frosta wandered over, and Adora hid the clue by pressing the book to her stomach. Frosta had a small, silver dagger hung from the side of her robe. Adora looked at it, and then looked at the table.

“Mermista,” Frosta grumbled.

“What?” Adora asked.

“Nothing,” Frosta said. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“Not supposed to talk about what?” Adora asked, her curiosity brought to display by this.

“Nothing!” Frosta exclaimed.

“Oh, c’mon, you said Mermista.”

“I just can’t work with Mermista,” Frosta said. “She keeps grumbling about how she rightfully should’ve owned the Sword, how if she were She-Ra the Empress would love her and let her kingdom go. She’s the worst.”

Setting aside the fact Adora actually respected such an idea, she supposed that made Mermista a threat. With a sigh, she set the book back down on the table. She turned to Frosta.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Just an innocent bit of envy.”

Frosta shrugged. “I dunno,” she said. “I’ve been in the Hegemony for a long time, and I’ve never seen an ‘innocent’ bit of envy here.”

“Fair,” Adora said. “You’re awfully smart for your age.”

“Yeah, well, my parents went missing in a portal accident, and I’ve been Princess ever since. You’ve gotta be smart for that.”

“Oh,” Adora said. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s nothing,” Frosta said, passing by Adora. “I just… sometimes I think it’s all too hard. I don’t want to be a Princess, but I suppose I don’t have a choice.”

That, Adora couldn’t relate to; she was sure that to be a Princess was stressful, but to grow up in the Horde, that was so much worse. After all, Princesses were rich. Now that she herself was one, she had gotten to experience all the perks and power of being one, and not only a Princess, but She-Ra herself. She wouldn’t give it up. _Ever_. It was hers by the right of her blood, and if necessary, it would be hers by the blood of others as well. She could only hope it wouldn’t come to that.

“You’ll learn,” Adora said. “Now, go on.”

It was then that she noticed the book was missing from the table.

Frosta had stolen her clue. Adora couldn’t decide whether she was angry or impressed. She settled on both.

A couple minutes later, Netossa was examining the floor for scraps, any clue as to the murderer’s identity. She had the passion of a woman on a true mission, seeking to claim a nonexistent prize for solving a nonexistent murder. Her intensity was inarguably admirable, no matter who gazed upon it.

It was then that she was approached by Perfuma, who looked sour.

“What happened?” Netossa asked.

Perfuma spoke with her hands. With a rudimentary understanding of ESL she meant to improve, Netossa picked up on three words, those being “Adora,” “Throne,” and “Angella.”

“What are you trying to say?” Netossa asked quietly.

Perfuma sighed, and pointed to Adora. Then, she pointed to Netossa, and then made a slashing motion across her throat. Netossa blinked.

“Adora is the murderer?”

Perfuma shook her head.

“Adora wants to kill me?”

The “Angella” gesture again. Widening her eyes, Netossa understood.

“Adora told the Empress about Ergokineas seceding, didn’t she? It’s too soon. We need a better opportunity.”

Perfuma nodded.

Netossa clenched her fists, and then saw a scrap of paper, with a slight red stain on it. It read _My dearest Empress, it is my dismay that I must do such things. I deeply regret it, copiously so. However, it is what I have been commanded to do_. That left little doubt that the killer was a Horde traitor of some sort.

“Well, thank you for the information,” Netossa said. “I suppose we’ll have to have a ‘talk’ about that.”

Perfuma glared at her.

“Oh, I didn’t mean--”

The silent Princess stepped past her. Netossa turned around awkwardly. As she heard footsteps, Netossa formed a rope of hard light, snagging the note and pulling it into her hand. Perfuma turned around in surprise, and Netossa smirked at her.

“Don’t even try it,” she said.

With a graceful shrug and a curtsy with her green dress, Perfuma walked away. Netossa supposed that was that. The two parted ways, although Netossa could calculate at least five ways the much more powerful Princess of perfect plant life and Plumeria could take the note from her without her even noticing.

What a pity that the entire world did not share her calculative and tactical skill.

Behind a different bookshelf entirely was Princess Mermista. She was not, however, searching for clues. She was remembering the way they had looked.

A force of three hundred. Three hundred prisoners, claiming their right to freedom. She had let them go. Of course she had let them go; there was no way she could fight three hundred people, no way she could stand and do battle against innocents whose only desire was to break free in good conscience. She was, on some level, a hero, no matter how the Hegemony corrupted those who claimed heroism in its borders.

It was then that none other than Kyle approached. “Mermista!” he exclaimed in a whisper. “Mermista!”

Mermista turned to him, and raised an eyebrow.

“Have you heard what Frosta’s been saying?”

Mermista waved him aside. “Frosta’s concerns aren’t, y’know, my concerns. I don’t see why I’d bother with that kid.”

“No,” Kyle said. “You’ve gotta listen to me about this, please.”

“Fine,” Mermista said dismissively. “Keep it quick.”

So, he droned on and on about something Frosta had said. Mermista had no concern, nothing of the sort. Instead, the thought of what King Triton would say. Of course, he’d probably go on about how she’d failed him again.

That was the sort of man he was. He spent her first fifteen years telling her about how she’d never be a rightful Princess, but the second he wanted to enjoy life, the moment the situation grew too awkward for him, he abdicated and said “Here’s my daughter, she gets the throne now.” Mermista liked to think she had always taken more after her mother.

Of course, her father was the mermaid of the combination; her mother was beautiful, like her. Her father was a mermaid, his skin a pale blue and his eyes gold. Her mother was descended from the First Ones, and Mermista was fortunate to have inherited no noticeable traits from her father, lest the Empress reject her. They had always so valued their beauty above all else, yet Mermista’s mother was different. She had always told Mermista that they did what they did for the common good, that if they were to be branded heroes it was their duty to act as they did.

Mom wasn’t here anymore, though.

Mermista clenched her teeth as Kyle went on, before he suddenly slammed a nearby bookshelf. Startled, Mermista looked at him. Several books fell down.

“Are you even listening to me?” he asked. “I just told you that Frosta’s going to use the Sea Wall incident to go for your throne!”

“What?” Mermista whispered sharply.

“Yeah!” Kyle said, scratching his neck with his left hand. “Frosta’s lost some faith with the Empress, but not nearly as much as you’ve lost. Thanks to that incident on the Sea Wall, she thinks she can curry favor and get your throne.”

“Why would she want that?” Mermista asked.

“Why would anyone want power?” Kyle asked. “I-I think she wants to become Empress to free her people.”

An intriguing concept. Still, it had been two weeks since the Sea Wall breakout. Surely, if there were a move to make, she would have made it by now.

Unless, of course, she was biding her time so as to seem innocent. Mermista supposed that was possible. After all, there was no disguise for bad intent better than a fur-lined robe and the mind of a child.

“Yeah,” Kyle said. “Things seem dire around here.”

“I’ll deal with it on my own,” Mermista said.

“Yes, ma’am!” Kyle whispered, backing away with palpable anxiety in his every word.

Then, of course, came Perfuma. It was time _she_ was visited. After all, if the rest of the Hegemony had received a new confidant, an informant, it was unfair to leave her out. The Princess was looking between flowerpots on bookshelves when she was approached by Adora, who was adjusting her hair.

“I’m a little worried about Glimmer,” Adora said. “She doesn’t seem to be doing so well lately. I’ve been visiting her about finances and management and she’s been breaking down a little.”

Perfuma turned to Adora and nodded. A fair concern. Still, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do about it.

“Still,” Adora said. “Worst part of it all is how she got up onto her bed and got one of her headaches. She started crying about how sometimes she thought about burning Plumeria just to impress her mom. I mean, she looked like she felt bad about it. I feel sorry for her.”

_Me too_ , Perfuma signed.

_It’s a little weird_ , Adora signed back. _Still, all’s well that ends well, right?_

Perfuma’s eyes widened in response. When had she learned ESL? It had only been two weeks, and it had taken her at least two months to learn it from Bow. Even now, she didn’t have it perfected. She used what worked for her, but Adora seemed fluent.

_Oh_ , Adora said, clearly responding to Perfuma. _Yeah, Bow taught me some ESL! Neat, isn’t it?_

Perfuma nodded, and then Adora was off. Still, she couldn’t help but worry. Generally, someone worried when someone else mentioned they were going to destroy their entire hometown.

She had worked so hard to make Plumeria work properly after her parents had displeased the Empress. The Empress wanted a mighty kingdom that used its nature, intertwined with the trees and flowers themselves, for purposes of industry and war. She wanted renewable resources that Plumeria struggled to craft. She wanted to chop down a tree and replace it in seconds, something that was implausible. Implausible as it was, Perfuma made it happen. Ever since she had taken the throne at but fourteen, she had worked to ensure that it was a place of exceptionally astounding wooden palaces, decorated beautifully and elegantly for the aesthetic pleasure of godlike Angella. Its very gates, made entirely of vines, smelled of ambrosial beauty. There was such greatness in its every last seed and root that even the Empress had granted unto it her praises.

Her Divinity had claimed it great.

Last to be visited was Frosta. She was climbing up a bookshelf for a reason even Da’el could not discern. Still, the chef walked toward her, and when she fell, caught the child and set her down gently. Frosta thanked them courteously.

“So, have you ever thought about how to free Snows?” Da’el asked as Frosta began climbing again.

The Princess of Snows turned back to her.

“We can’t rebel,” she said. “So I guess we’re just stuck under Angella’s rule.”

“Perhaps,” Da’el said. “Perhaps, however, you could gain allies. Maybe gain another kingdom?”

“You suggesting we go to war with ourselves?” Frosta asked.

“Oh, no, not a chance, child.”

Frosta groaned. “Don’t say ‘child’ like that. Makes you sound like the Empress.”

“Sorry,” Da’el said. “Still, I think if you managed to talk someone, like, say, Mermista into handing you control of her kingdom. It would be complicated.”

“There’s not many ways to get a kingdom,” Frosta said. “I was unlucky enough that my parents went missing when they expressed Horde sympathy. Marriage alliances are one way to inherit one, but that’s an issue too. I don’t know how I’d get one.”

“Kiddo,” Da’el said. “You wanna know something? The rules? They’re made up. The only reason there’s laws about who can have a throne is because Angella said so, and the only reason she has a throne is because the First Ones said so. The real rule is ‘because I said so,’ which is quite appropriate for the Empress. Still, all you’d need to get a throne is to get one. By any means necessary. Say, doesn’t Snows have a nice open position to, hm, strike at the land bridge? Aren’t you being undervalued?”

“Are you playing at my ego?” Frosta asked with a smirk, dropping to the floor.

“Is it working?” Da’el asked, looking at their black-painted nails.

“I’m a little disappointed in myself to admit it, but, yeah, it’s working.”

“Good,” the chef said. “I want it to be clear to you. Snows is a powerful force unto itself. You deserve better than the treatment Angella gives you. Why, that land bridge, the one that separates the two continents, the one containing Bright Moon, Plumeria, etcetera, the other with the Fright Zone? If you were allied with Salineas, you could take it by land and sea. My, my. Now it seems I’m getting ahead of myself. Someone like Mermista would never willingly work with a rowdy child like yourself.”

The arbalest Bow walked past, and T’ermoil waved at Frosta, before walking away. _Think about it_ , the chef mouthed as they left. Then, the two departed, leaving Frosta to stew about the idea of freeing the Kingdom of Snows.

The mystery continued. They all wanted clues. They all wanted to win. The truth, however, was that no matter who won, everyone lost. That was the genius of it all.

**~Hegemony~**

The first thing he thought was the crushing possibility that he was alone. The second thing he found was the first reminder that he wasn’t. That was what made everything worse.

Over the course of two weeks, he had made his way from the innards of his ship. The black hull, its countless cables outside, had plunged from the ground. He was unleashed into a city of chaos, red and rioting. It burned. Its palace was guarded heavily, dozens of bowmen atop it.

“It’s the demon!” a person with blue skin and a brown tunic shouted, pointing at him.

Clone H11-7158 had spent the last two weeks crawling through ducts, watching as his ship, crewed solely by him, had fallen through a portal, just as Prime had commanded. He required sustenance. He desired information.

“Demon!” another citizen, this one holding a torch, cried out. They dropped jewelry.

“I am not a demon,” he said with a remarkable scoff.

It was not the first time he had been deposited directly into a warzone. In fact, it was far from the first time. No, this was his routine. Prime brought his ships across the cosmos. He took warring peoples and brought them peace.

It was bright as day, and he had seen the pictures of this world he had been sent to. A backwater. His ship had scanned it dozens of times along his path. It was a world told only in forbidden fairy tales, one known as Etheria.

There were only around four members of the Galactic Horde remaining, but that would change. 7158 had been sent here specifically. He knew not his purpose, but he knew that he would be rewarded. This was his redemption, and he would return to Prime’s light worthwhile, not like the defective heretic he had been before, the blemish on Prime’s perfect host.

With a smooth, fresh blaster in his hand, he noted that his white robe had been ruined. The dial on the side of the blaster was at its lowest setting. Noting the palace’s red walls and decor, a massive scorpion tail over it, he also noted that it was atop a hill. It was then that one of the rioters looked upon him and fainted. If the entire world was this fragile and emotional, then he was going to have an easy time.

The torn white robe over his body had been charred with ash. It looked black now. While the appearance disgusted 7158, he supposed there would be time for aesthetic changes. He would bring peace to this chaotic place.

They did not fight him. They feared him, for his ship brought destruction. He walked past them, and the rioting citizens froze in their step. Then, a small child ran up to him. The clone knelt before the child, and found that they had white hair and red claws. The child and the fallen one spoke on equal footing, for all creatures, no matter how small, had a place in the empire of Prime.

“What’s your name?” the child asked with pure innocence, not knowing this new figure was a supposed demon.

“I am…”

He had no name. He deserved none. He was but an instrument of Horde Prime. A part of an indomitable whole.

“I am…”

7158 was merely a designated number.

“I am of the Horde,” he said, before a rock struck him on the side of his head.

“What is that?” the citizen who had thrown the rock asked.

“The Horde are the righteous rulers of this land, and of the known universe.”

“The only righteous ruler here is Princess Scorpia!” another citizen exclaimed.

Two women rushed past, and grabbed their child. They looked at 7158, who looked to them. So, it seemed they were hostile. Still, he would carry the facade of one unwary if it would benefit him. Still, the very atmosphere was cruel. All it took was a lapse, and he would show them what a demon looked like.

Calm. He calmed himself. No. He would not descend to such depths. Two weeks? He had spent far longer than two weeks in far worse places than a Horde ship. Admittedly, he could not recall them, but his memory was lacking. He was purified before being sent upon his holy task.

“Ma’am, if I may be so presumptuous, solely for the sake of convenience,” he said, still kneeling, the right side of his head bleeding, his small blaster pistol tucked away in a compartment on his black boot.

“S-sir?”

“I would like to know the situation of this riot. Then, I would like instructions to the capital of this _fine_ city of _civilized_ people.”

“The conflict with the queen has boiled over. The Scorpion King’s keeping his throne, even though Princess Scorpia’s the rightful heir. He’s got his guards hunting us. Then, well, then your little ship popped in. How does someone like you pilot something that big?”

“Artificial intelligence,” he said. Fortunately, it was a primarily automated ship, lest more of his brethren would have perished.

A guard, dressed all in red armor, with a tail on his back, rushed toward the young child. The guard had brown hair and a pair of dull eyes, his cheekbones deep and red claws on his hands. 7158 was quick to approach, and caught the tail as it was about to descend upon the child. How cruel was a person that they would murder a child without hesitation?

With a single motion, he snapped the tail. Even defective, a single clone of the Galactic Horde was equivalent to ten typical men. A red claw slammed into his abdomen. He faltered, backing away, and growled. He had no desire to grow any nearer to this filth, the manner of filth that would kill an innocent child.

“She must die!” the guard exclaimed. “The Scorpion King wills it.”

The fallen clone’s response was quick and succinct. Unveiling his blaster, he aimed it toward his foe. Turning his blaster’s dial upward, he terminated the guard with precision. A single blast through the chest, and he fell. The wound was instantly cauterized, as well. Convenient. Everyone backed away. Fortunately, the white-haired child had already left the scene, having hopefully run into one of the many houses, unable to see this unbecoming savagery.

“Then I will inform the Scorpion King that _I defy his will_.”

The people stared in horror and admiration alike as he turned the weapon’s dial down to a non-lethal setting. It was only sinners that required such punishment. 7158 quietly uttered a prayer for the fallen guard. He did not deserve it, yet 7158 nonetheless uttered it.

“Now!” he exclaimed. “Is it true that your people typically have names?”

One woman, a black-haired one wearing silver armor, nodded. The other, her hair white as the child now hidden away, which caused 7158 to deduce with immediacy that this was likely the child’s mother, and some form of barbaric companion the child’s mother had taken in what was all too likely some mating ritual of Etheria. Perhaps he should have done more research.

“W-we do,” the white-haired person said.

7158 scoffed. How primitive. Of course, they likely lacked a hive mind, so that did admittedly make things more difficult for them. Still, there were surely other methods beyond this imbecilic and ignorant individualism?

He shook his head. Not the time for such affairs. He approached her.

“So, if I go straight forward, I will find a path to the palace?”

“There’s a lot of soldiers up there,” the black-haired woman said.

“You’d need an army!” declared the white-haired woman.

7158 turned the dial of his blaster all the way up. He looked upon the mass of red-clad guards, and snarled. This was distasteful. Prime would be left with so few people to induct into the beautiful, heavenly hive mind if he were to press on. He turned it to a lower setting. Just enough to inflict pain. That pain would grant unto them the greatest gift of all, purity.

“Didn’t you hear her?” asked a nearby child, one with green skin and golden hair. “You’d need an army!” It was then that they flickered from the form of a small child to that of the white-haired child, then back. A shapeshifter. Unusual. Typically, most planets had one dominant sapient species, but it seemed this one had multiple. Still, if the First Ones ruled, their descendants likely served as the dominant species, if only in terms of hierarchy.

“I would need an army?” 7158 asked.

“Of course!” the child exclaimed, then becoming a young girl with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, clad in red. 7158 could not help but feel as though he had seen the form before, perhaps in a nightmare. Then again, clones of the Galactic Horde did not have nightmares. Their only dreams were granted unto them by Prime.

“Is there an available army nearby?” he asked.

The woman shook her head. Heretics. They knew not the gravity of Prime’s fearsome and divine authority over all that existed. With merely his right hand, he could control worlds.

“Tell me, this Princess Scorpia is the rightful ruler?”

“Yes,” the white-haired woman said. “My father won’t risk putting her on the throne. I’ve abdicated, I can’t control the runestone, but her, she _can_.”

“I see,” said 7158. “Then I shall have to be as the Horde unto myself, impossible as that may be.”

“Then what should we call you?” she asked.

“If I must have a name, I will be known as _Horde_.”

“That’s not gonna work,” the black-haired woman said. “We can’t just call you the name of your faction.”

“Throw something on the end!” exclaimed the voice of the white-haired child from within a building. The nameless clone gave her a brief look, and then accepted a name with great reluctance. He would have time to repent of this sin soon enough.

He advanced with the fury of the entire Horde in his mind. It was a harsh fight, and by the end of it, his white robe was torn and his face bruised and bloodied, green bleeding from across his face. Still, as he walked up toward the palace gates, he looked at the wreckage in his wake. Dozens of bodies, whether squirming or passed out of shock, watched as he advanced through the flames, reborn in fire and violence upon this unholy planet.

The gates fell from a single brutal blow. He walked in, prepared for his salvation, and found instead a total of four more guards. These wore golden armor. His wounds were bleeding already, and upon firing, he found the enemy ducking his every shot. They moved so quickly, as though they themselves were demons.

First among them thrust a spear in his way. The clone dodged to the left, and fired a blast from his pistol. It knocked the guard to the ground. The next swung a curved, red blade toward him. 7158 blasted his chest before the blow landed.

The next two attacked at once, plunging their tails toward him. The clone dodged, which left them plunging their tails into one another. Unfortunate.

The place known colloquially as the Horror Hall was a mighty palace of red brick and stone, its throne of polished pink gold. Upon it sat an aged man, handsome and dignified despite his age, his hair white and his eyes a most peculiar shade of brown. He slouched in the manner only a dictator could, and slowly he clapped his hands, gazing upon his defeated guards.

“An impressive display,” he said, his voice brittle and hollow as his words.

“You!” the fallen clone roared. “You are the one who would kill a child to ensure your reign!”

The king sighed. “It is a sordid choice,” the king said. “The Fright Kingdom must have a strong ruler if it is to oppose Angella. Unfortunate as it is, my daughter is a half-breed, and she is not strong. Her taking the throne would all too inevitably bring me to conflict with the queen, and I cannot do so. If she inherits the throne, my people will find war. They do not understand it, but all that I do, I do for them.”

“You require a strong ruler?” the missionary of Prime asked. “My creator, my emperor, Horde Prime shall give you protection if you simply swear allegiance. He is the cosmic ruler.”

“Horde Prime?” the man asked, rapping his fingers along the arm of his resplendent pink gold throne. “Cosmic ruler? These are not the cosmos. This is Etheria. I have surrendered to defend my people.”

“So you will not swear allegiance?” 7158 asked, adjusting the dial on his blaster upward.

“I will never bow before an unknown conqueror. I am ruler of the Fright Kingdom, rightful ruler by blood and by right of will and sword. I am the most fearsome warrior. If you desire my throne, you shall have to fight me for it! Now, stand, demon! You will stumble in your opposition of my rule, and you shall fall as all have before! I--”

7158 shot him.

He slumped back into his seat, his remains rather gruesome. 7158 turned the blaster’s dial back down, and holstered it in his boot once more. He looked at the corpse.

“A pity,” he said. “I genuinely do hope your successor is more… cooperative.”

Approaching the throne, he took it. It felt as though it were made for him. He looked through the destroyed gates and saw a burning city. He would reform it for the glory of Prime. He would open a portal, and through it would come a reinvigorated host of Prime’s greatest warriors. Surely, the Galactic Emperor would have rebuilt his forces? He would come, and he would bring with him all that the cloned crusader needed. Yes, this was the redemption of the failed clone. A defect no longer, a servant of Prime once more, brought back into the light!

Then he thought of the light, and began to weep. Prime would welcome him back, even after he had taken a name, surely. So charitable he was, to allow one as heretical and disgusting as the fallen one to return to his forces. The abandoned clone clenched his fist so harshly he destroyed his blaster, and looking upon the destruction he wrought with his mere arrival, he wondered if that was his nature. Were they right, and he was a demon, cast out for being horrific and depraved? Was it his right to look as beautiful as Prime, or did he deserve the fate of becoming serpentine and vile, his inner nature reflected upon him, flesh turned to scales and bloated, his voice turned to a hissing mendacity which encapsulated the lies and blasphemies on his reddened tongue?

With rage and fear, the demon destroyed the throne, weeping. He deserved no throne. He deserved only to kneel before Prime once more. Setting his hands over his face, he descended to his knees, imagining Prime, tears flowing down his face, a face forbidden from such displays of emotion. He felt all that was within him burn, rage and fear and hatred not of this planet’s inhabitants nor of the tyrant but of himself, and at last, he looked up to the burning city, and he dug his hands into the red floor beneath him. His rage, his fear, his hatred, and all the thousands of memories flooding back, granting unto the failed clone sorrow, flowed to the top of him.

Hordak screamed.

**~Hegemony~**

Catra and Lonnie stood among a wall covered in the names of the dead.

Names were scrawled across the wall, dozens. It all seemed so safe to everyone else, but she and Lonnie knew better; they had seen the consequences. Still, one day, one moment, one death, it all made Catra shudder at the thought of what the war had once been, the bodies piling. So many names across the massive slab of polished, engraved stone behind the sanctum of the Fright Zone, hidden from the view of most. Lonnie pressed a hand to the wall, and stared upon the names.

Huntara had fallen before their eyes. The two were in a way responsible. Now, Kyle was gone as well; not dead, fortunately, but the two, having witnessed it, wondered what they could have done differently.

“Force Commander, huh?” Lonnie asked.

“Yeah,” Catra muttered, scanning the wall. She saw the name of King Micah, and her blood boiled. It felt as though she were going to go mad from the very sight of it.

The Empress was so powerful, so wrathful, that she demanded her stupid husband mourned, that he be among the ghosts of the Horde, the noble ones who had fallen in pursuit of the Hegemony’s end. Why was it that he got more of a privilege than the dozens of soldiers who surely had not gotten their rightful place on this memorial?

It was fortunate that there were no casualties in this war, but it was only an illusion. The moment it was won, Angella and Hordak alike would happily deal with the survivors in a way they saw fit. Such violence was surely not beyond Lord Hordak to commit.

Scorpia walked over, joining the two. Catra saw the woman, muscular, her white hair blowing in a warm wind. The factories were churning out dozens of robots all around them. New recruits were being trained by the dozens. For the first time in a long time, people were willingly joining the Horde.

Even greater, the siege had been broken. The force field around the Hegemony had been altered by Lord Hordak, ensuring that people could pass through, provided they were permitted in the Fright Zone by the Horde. Shadow Weaver now trained mages in the barracks; over two thousand robots stood in defense of the Fright Zone, and in Horror Hall, Lord Hordak was now constantly at work on secret projects. Most recently, Catra had noticed a mask he worked on, its eyes red circles, a breathing tube prepared to connect to something unknown. It almost resembled that which Princess Entrapta wore upon her face, as though it were made in tribute to the Princess of Dryl.

The Fright Zone, the Horde, all were open now. The armies were greater than before, the factories at constant work, the assembly lines pushed by machines. Catra had mostly handled logistics during this time; fortunately, however, Shadow Weaver had her schedule free and, at least for now, saw some pragmatism, some merit, in allying together with her ward Catra, and in teaching her the methods of managing an army. They grew in number every day, the Horde becoming legion, the legion becoming a force.

They horrified the Hegemony, and all knew it. Not only that, the spark of rebellion had spread across the world like an infection. The Sea Wall had two attempted breakouts in the past two weeks. Neither succeeded. The Princesses had all disappeared from the public eye for fear that they may be attacked. Homemade Horde flags were planted across dozens of towns, which were then overrun with kudzu.

There were struggles with this newfound power, to be sure. They had to make space. They had to find a new way of living. Dryl sent them more and more ration bars, every day, in addition to platters of miniscule hor d’oeuvres that Hordak seemed to consistently receive, which he distributed to his people instead of consuming himself, stating that he would not feast like a king while his people struggled. Every day, he came out with the hand of a father rather than that of an overlord, wearing the armor Entrapta had given him.

He had upgraded his gauntlets as well. The wrists, his bracers, now unleashed double-edged blades, their edges lit red by heat and energy. The entire Horde was rallied, in great spirits, but it was temporary. Soon, the people would realize that they served a force that was similar to the Hegemony, and that its leader, for all he seemed strong, was but a man rejected by all but the Princess in the lonesome mountains.

“That’s a lot of names,” Scorpia said. Then, she pointed out one. “That’s my granddad. One of the first people who died making the Horde.”

“Your granddad helped Hordak?” Catra asked.

“Oh, no,” Scorpia said. “I wish. One of the first things that ever happened was that he tried to kill me. Angella and her force drove him nuts. I remember it a little. He was just a nice old man, supportive and protective, until one day he ordered me dead.”

Lonnie blinked a few times. “That’s horrible,” she said.

“Kinda,” Scorpia said. “I don’t actually remember it that well. I remember Lord Hordak far better. The way he marched on Horror Hall. We really did like to seem scary. Granddad wasn’t great at picking names.”

“I’m so sorry,” Catra offered, almost disingenuously.

“I helped him make his name, you know. He didn’t have one when he landed. My moms saw whatever happened in Horror Hall after the fact, they left me with Aunt Euscorpius. They said granddad fought valiantly, that he gave Hordak a fight and Hordak would have been merciful if granddad hadn’t been so valorous.”

“So you’re working for the man who killed your grandfather?” Lonnie asked, appalled.

“I mean, I’ve never really looked at it that way. He freed us all.”

“Freed?” Catra asked. “I wouldn’t really say he freed you.”

“I think he means well,” Scorpia said. “I think he’s just rough around the edges.”

“He burned down villages,” Catra said.

“Everyone has issues,” Scorpia responded. “We all make mistakes.”

Catra sighed. Of course Scorpia would say that. Of course she would.

“Then what about the Black Garnet?” Lonnie asked. “Why doesn’t he wire you into that?”

“I don’t think I could use it,” Scorpia said. “Shadow Weaver’s always told me that mixed-species people can’t use the runestones.”

“That can’t be right,” Catra said, plucking a data pad from her hip. “I thought our file on Mermista said she was part mermaid.”

“Wait,” Scorpia said. “If that’s right, I could channel the Black Garnet.”

“Oh, that’d be cool,” Lonnie said, still staring at the wall, scanning it with great intensity.

“I mean, I honestly don’t really think it’s worth trying. Shadow Weaver would get mad, and I mean, it probably still wouldn’t work, and I don’t think there’s much point to it, y’know?”

“Scorpia, you’re already strong,” Catra said. “You’re really buff and a good captain. I mean, if we gave you the Black Garnet, you’d be a powerhouse.”

“I don’t really want to be a powerhouse, though,” Scorpia said. “I don’t think I’d be a very good powerhouse.”

“You’d be great at it,” Lonnie said in a manner that wasn’t very convincing, still fixated on the memorial wall.

“I mean, would I? I’m not really much of a fighter. I really don’t like punching people or anything. I’m really afraid of blood.”

Blood. There hadn’t been blood, but Catra had the thought anyways. It struck her at her very core; she could remember it all. Every second of it, the smell, the feeling, the sudden realization. She nearly retched from her memory.

She pushed it aside. There would be time to mourn when the affairs were done. Today was not the time. Still, Lonnie finally found Huntara’s name, pressing her hand to it. There was something in the way she looked at it.

“I couldn’t see myself killing someone,” Scorpia said.

It was unintentional. Catra reminded herself of that. Scorpia didn’t mean to offend, she was trying to be nice and courteous, she always was. Scorpia wasn’t the sort of person who would do anything bad on purpose. Still, she couldn’t help but feel herself break. She pushed her memories aside. So, she’d need therapy after the war. That was pretty normal.

“Scorpia, do you believe that there’s a way to go back from killing someone?” Catra asked. “That after you do it, you can still be good?”

Scorpia shrugged. “I don’t know that someone becomes bad the second they kill someone. I mean, if it’s unwarranted, cold-blooded murder, maybe, but this is a war.”

“What if you let them die?” Catra asked.

“You’re talking about your mission, aren’t you?” Scorpia asked, coming to a realization.

“No,” Catra lied.

“Yes,” Lonnie said sternly. “She is.”

“It’s okay,” Scorpia said.

Suddenly, Catra was being rather aggressively hugged by the deposed princess. She was lifted into the air, and nestled closely against her neck. The rogue raised her claws in resistance at first, but then realized it was in a way comforting.

“It’s not your fault,” Scorpia said. “Sometimes, bad things happen. It’s okay, Catra.”

“It’s not okay, Scorpia. Someone died and I just _watched_!”

“That’s not entirely true, Catra,” Lonnie said. “You were a minute away from shooting Tung Lashor yourself. You didn’t think he was gonna do that. None of us could have predicted it. We all thought he was slime, but none of us thought he was a _murderer_.”

“He killed her,” Catra said. “He killed her, and I couldn’t stop him, _I was the cause_. Then I failed to get Entrapta back. There was nothing I could do, Scorpia. I tried as hard as I could but all I ever do is make mistakes! Shadow Weaver was right, she was right, Scorpia!”

Catra began to cry. Then, she whimpered against Scorpia’s soft neck. Scorpia held her tight, and did not let go for even a moment. She was strong, and for once, she was silent. It was like she understood what Catra needed.

“You’re lucky there’s nobody in this area,” Lonnie said, her voice audibly cracking. “A Force Commander crying isn’t something that Hordak would approve of.”

“We’ll keep it secret,” Scorpia said.

There was misplaced pride and desperate, overcompensating arrogance. Her wake was failure, her legacy death. In her dreams, she saw them all. She saw them fall. In her mind’s eye, she could see the way they all despised her. Oh, they seemed proud, but that pride would fade the moment she was no longer of use. There were three kinds of people in Etheria; there were those who hated, and those who loved. Those who loved desired to love those who hated, but those who hated would only ever hate those who loved. Then, of course, there were those who hated in the guise of love, who sought to benefit themselves, veiled in a desire to benefit others.

Oh, there were multiple facets, but in the end, that was all it boiled down to. Personal complexity, nuance, all of that was a disguise. It was all those who hated and those who loved, those who succeeded and who failed. Catra had never had enough to be either. She was an impostor in both camps, any kindness or charity she had marred so thoroughly by her vileness and her failure, her very nature disgusting and her every attempt to defeat or to claim Adora failing, as she knew not how to claim love. She knew only the truth, the truth she should have spoken back in the citadel of Bright Moon, when she watched Adora leave. All she had to do was swallow that pride of hers, yet she couldn’t even do that. All she wanted was to watch Adora suffer, beautiful Adora, who never would have let Huntara die. And she claimed to love her?

“Adora is better than me,” Catra said.

The others were silent at first.

Scorpia clutched her even tighter than before, and sat down. Catra removed herself from the Force Captain’s grasp. Such an epiphany, such a thought, she could not process it. The notion may have been true, and she knew not whether it was, but if she permitted it to become her every driving force, she would falter and fail again and again. She had success, and she would have to take that success and amplify it.

Catra stood on her feet. She was going to get Adora back, and she was going to do it without hurting her. Adora could be talked down. She knew it.

It was unbecoming of anyone who loved someone else to hurt them. That was a lesson she’d had to suffer to learn. It would be truly unfortunate if she ever forgot it.

“Scorpia,” she said, wiping the tears from her face. “Scorpia, can you sword fight?”

Scorpia shook her head. Lonnie awkwardly raised her hand.

“I know some sword fighting,” Lonnie said.

“I want you to teach me,” Catra said.

“Teach you?” Lonnie asked.

“If I’m gonna take Adora down, I have to get that sword out of her hands. For that, I need to be able to fight.”

“You’re not gonna beat Adora in a sword fight. You know what you might be better off with? Whips.”

“Whips?” Catra asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Lonnie said. “You’re already good with evasion. You can’t aim a bow, and blasters are in short supply if we have them at all. That said, tasers get you in too close. An electrified whip would be a good compromise.”

“Well, who could make one of those?” Catra asked.

Lonnie looked at her.

“No,” Catra said. “You can’t be serious.”

Five minutes later, she was in Lord Hordak’s sanctum. The wires were prepared properly. His makeup was, for the first time she had ever seen, perfectly prepared on his face. His arm had been polished, the Horde symbol painted in red on its shoulder. Imp, green and cherubic as ever, flew down to his shoulder. The vents rattled above Catra’s head, but she paid them little mind.

“Lord Hordak, I was wondering if I could ask for a special requisition.”

“An _electrified whip_ ,” Lord Hordak said, clasping his hands over his mouth as a machine worked on his mechanical arm.

“Yes,” Catra said. “How did you know?”

“I see everything in the Fright Zone, Force Commander. Nothing escapes my eyes,” he said, gently petting Imp’s head, “or my ears.”

“So you saw that breakdown?” she asked.

“I did,” he said. “I think you ought to be informed, Catra, that I do not think any less of you for your emotions. They are not easy to suppress in this environment. Provided your emotions do not interfere with your uses, I take no issue with your responses.”

“I lied to you,” she blurted. “I stole the data pad from Kyle. That was how I knew what the Sword was. I was going to defect to the Hegemony.”

Hordak turned to her. He gritted his teeth. After a few moments of thinking, he slammed a hand upon his table.

“You deceived me?” he asked, his gaze narrowing.

Catra backed away.

“It is alright,” he said. “There is nothing you can do. Thank you for your honesty. I dislike being deceived, but I will not punish you in this case. There is no point in punishing you now. As for your requisition, I am already working on a design. Speaking of designs, I thought I ought to ask you something.”

Hordak snapped the fingers on his mechanical hand, and a door swiveled open, exposing a pair of black capes, the Horde insignia upon each of them. The first of them was wider than the other, covering his entire body.

“One of my secret projects,” he said. “I wanted your advice, since you seemed more fashionable than I. Half cape, or full cape? Come closer, I think you ought to get a better look.”

Catra ascended the stairs, and moved into the now orderly sanctum. As she looked at the cape, she heard something. Lord Hordak groaned, and then stumbled backward. He yelped in pain, barely standing, and in his furious pulling, inadvertently took the power crystal from his armor. It clattered upon the floor, and Catra saw him grab at the floor.

Well, she supposed he deserved this. After all, he was the one who had taken her in as a child, who had raised her into a fighter. If he hadn’t sent her on a mission, if he hadn’t fought, if he’d just let Angella take the world, it wouldn’t be such an issue, right? After all, as she so often proclaimed, she was only so harsh because he was fighting back.

He breathed a hoarse breath, and reached out for the crystal. Catra took it from the floor. It was a little anticlimactic to be entirely honest, but that was that. All she needed to do was throw that crystal down the stairs, and get Shadow Weaver to put him in a cell. The entire Horde would support her leadership over that of the sorcerer. It was unfortunate, but it was so easy to take charge of the Horde. It was his own fault for instituting a hierarchy so rudimentary that whoever happened to sit upon a chair was in charge.

Yet, she looked upon the crystal, and she saw in it herself. _Adora is better than me_ , she heard. More motivation than ever to take the Horde. She would ascend to command faster than Adora ever had. The entire Horde would be her legion, her weapon, her spear which she would plunge into the figurative heart of the Hegemony. They saw her as their paragon, their hero. She could get everything she wanted, and all she had to do was nothing. Queen, and all it would take would be letting him lie in the grave he himself had dug.

Then she looked upon herself, and she saw behind her Adora. Placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Defending her throughout her childhood. Always being there for her, even though Catra loved to hurt her, hated her just to feel better about herself, to have an easier enemy. Was this how she proved herself better than Adora? Being a thousand times more vile? Letting Hordak collapse under her feet? What kind of a person did that make her?

What kind of a person was she?

She kneeled down, and saw Hordak look into her eyes. There was a certain self-assuredness, even in this vulnerable state. For a moment, a last urge to let him fall for his arrogance. He reached out a hand to her, not to the crystal in her hand, but to her. This was not arrogance. It was a last look of valor, with nothing left to lose.

She plunged her hand into his chest.

His armor roared to life again, the crystal back in place. He gasped, taking in a beautifully normal breath. Coughing, he made it to his feet.

“If I’m gonna be honest, I don’t care about the Horde,” she said. “I just want Adora back. When I’m done using the Horde, I’m gonna leave.”

Hordak looked at the floor.

“We are all here for our own purposes. I suppose that is part of why people love the Horde so much. If we are to be honest, however…”

With a snap of the fingers of his mechanical hand, Lord Hordak opened another hidden thing in the wall. Unfortunately, it did not contain another cape. Instead, it contained six spherical robots, who had been watching the entire affair. Their eyes glowed violet, and they scuttled out, surrounding Catra and Hordak alike, their sole eyes aimed at Catra. From their sides they did unearth entire arsenals.

“You, you played me!” Catra exclaimed.

“If you are to be my right hand, I must have you undergo a test of character. Shadow Weaver is the sole treacherous lieutenant I allow, and that is so that I may be consistently maneuvering around someone, keeping pace so as to improve my tactics and skills.”

“You played me!” Catra exclaimed. “I thought we were having a nice moment there!”

“I would say that, by our standards, that _was_ a nice moment. You did not choose to save me because you had deduced my trap. You did it because you wanted to. That is why I would happily place the Horde in your hands.”

“You’d… what?”

“As I said, I am retiring after the war is over. I would put my people in your hands. You have changed, Catra, and so quickly as well. You are vulnerable, emotional, passionate. You even seem to be growing a sufficient moral compass.”

“Aren’t those flaws?”

“Flaws in a _tyrant_ ,” Hordak said. “Not flaws in a ruler. Make no mistake, Force Commander. I have no intention to ever truly change my ways. The Horde, as long as it is under me, is a conquering force. If we win, however, I believe I will hand it over to you. This, Force Commander, was your final temptation. A last decision to prove your worth.”

“I’ve been your Force Commander for two weeks,” Catra said.

“I do have the ability to decide otherwise at any moment.”

“Okay, fair enough. I do have a question, though.”

“What is it?” Lord Hordak asked.

“What happened to the Scorpion people? Scorpia’s people?”

“Oh, Force Captain Scorpia’s people? I gave them full evacuation rights once I took charge. They are scattered across Etheria right now.”

“Huh,” Catra said.

“They weren’t a very large population in the first place. In exchange, however, you must answer _my_ question.”

“Anything,” Catra said.

“Half cape or full? I do not have all day, Force Commander.”

**~Hegemony~**

“You _treacherous bastard_!” Adora exclaimed, pointing a finger toward Kyle.

Kyle stuttered. Was it this? Was his true nature revealed at last?

“I-I didn’t do it, I swear! I didn’t do it! Okay, okay, I did it!”

Bow looked perplexed. “Show us your card, Kyle.”

Kyle looked at Bow. The Princesses shot glances at one another; each of them had learned something from this experience. Glimmer, in particular, was staring at Adora with great intensity. Adora’s eyes flickered between Kyle and T’ermoil, the chef smirking as they watched Kyle panic.

Kyle displayed his card, the white piece of paper presented to the others.

“Kyle, your card says you’re innocent,” Adora said. “Why did you say you were guilty?”

“I’m bad in social situations,” Kyle said meekly.

“That’s alright,” Adora said.

Then, the rest turned against one another. Now, suspicion was on Adora; she had made the accusation toward Kyle. They had all turned on one another, stealing clues. They were ready to find themselves in complete and total conflict, more than happy to eliminate their comrades until they got to the murderer. Adora could most definitely see the weakness.

“Adora, you’re the one who found the book the fastest,” Mermista said. “Is the murderer, like, given all the clues?”

Bow nodded. “All the clues are written on their card.”

Perfuma stared intensely at Adora, who stared intensely in response. The two had a staring contest for about half a minute, and then Adora began to wonder if Perfuma ever blinked. The two looked away.

“You seem suspicious to me,” Frosta said. “After all, you seemed awfully quick to accuse Kyle!”

“Okay, let’s not be too harsh,” Netossa said. “Adora’s not stupid. If she were the murderer, she wouldn’t accuse Kyle. It’d only draw attention and eliminate one suspect.”

“Not only that, I still don’t know the weapon,” Adora said.

“Agreed,” Glimmer said. “I’ve got faith in Adora. You’re awfully quick to make an accusation, Mermista.”

“Right, but what Netossa said,” Mermista responded. “Besides, I was actually baiting out Frosta.”

Frosta turned to her. “What?” she asked, fiddling with her fingers anxiously.

“Raise your hand if you think Frosta’s the murderer,” Bow said. “Be cordial.”

Glimmer, Netossa, Da’el, Perfuma, and Mermista all raised their hands. Glimmer, Adora, and Bow did not. They were outvoted.

Frosta showed them her card. They looked, and Netossa simply shrugged. She was innocent. She left to join Kyle.

“Oh, one thing I forgot to mention!” Bow exclaimed. “Every time you vote someone wrong out, you lose half an hour. So, since we took about an hour to convene, we’ve got about sixty minutes.”

Adora gulped. So they had an hour left to solve the mystery. Examining the clues, she scanned the room. It was then that Da’el T’ermoil presented a small dagger. They had to have stolen it from Netossa, most certainly. Impressive enough.

“The dagger is stained with blood. It is the murder weapon.”

Hanging from the dagger was a small white square. Folding it open, T’ermoil nodded. They indeed had the weapon of choice.

“The culprit was a Horde traitor,” Adora said, presenting the book. “They read _Remains of Paradise_ , which even people in the Horde know is basically anti-Princess propaganda. I mean, the author says it was actually about how great Angella’s rule is, but we all think he was on Hordak’s side without knowing it.”

“I’ve got the motive,” Glimmer said. “It’s not because they’re a Horde traitor. _Remains of Paradise_ was written to include an internal conflict with Hordak, who eventually split into two beings.”

Everyone looked at her.

“I read books,” she said. “Anyways, as much of an epic poem as it is, I think that the culprit’s motive is actually that they had a split personality. That doesn’t exactly narrow it down, though.”

“It was Da’el,” Netossa said casually. “Has to have been. They were the one who kept stealing stuff.”

“Okay, _we_ were stealing stuff too,” Bow said.

“All who think it was Netossa?” Adora asked.

“What?” Netossa asked. “Why are you accusing me?”

“To run the clock out,” Adora said. “You, as the murderer, would want to cut down the clock, wouldn’t you?”

“I mean, I suppose I do,” Netossa said. “If I were the murderer, that is. I am not a murderer.”

Everyone raised their hands, except Netossa. Then, she unveiled her card. She grumbled as she walked away, innocent of any crime. A simple slip of the tongue undid the smartest of their number.

“Thirty minutes,” Bow said. “Another wrong guess and we’re done for.”

They stared at one another. Those that remained needed to figure things out. Da’el, Mermista, Perfuma, Adora, Glimmer, and Bow all remained. One of them had murdered the Empress. Adora clenched her fists. Who could it be?

It didn’t add up. None of it did. As they talked, as they debated, the clock ran down. Finally, there were two minutes left. None of them had come up with a lead. They were growing desperate, seeking to eliminate the murderer. While all of them wanted to win, that was starting to take a backseat to a refusal to lose. Glimmer looked at Bow, and Adora did the same. Bow turned his eye to T’ermoil, and Glimmer did too. Da’el was slipping their card between their fingers, doing tricks with it. Who could it be? Who was the murderer? Bow had set up the mystery to be almost unsolvable, as he would.

Then, Adora’s eyes widened. Da’el had stolen the evidence. They had deceived everyone, and been neutral on everything. Before they cast their votes, Glimmer pointed at T’ermoil.

“You!” she exclaimed. “You did it!”

Bow looked at them. “Who all thinks the chef did it?”

A last chance. This accusation would bring their end, and they had less than a minute left. It would all be over. Adora accused Da’el as well. Bow had an intriguing, catlike smile as he did the same, sealing their fate. Finally, it was done.

The chef’s card read innocent. Adora’s eyes widened. Glimmer looked at Bow, who tossed aside his card and began to laugh. He laughed and laughed, and laughed, and he just kept _laughing_.

“Is this a good laugh or a bad laugh?” Adora asked.

“Definitely a bad laugh,” Glimmer said.

“ _You fools_!” Bow exclaimed. “I was the murderer all along! Oh, and you all came so close!”

“You were a Horde traitor,” Adora said.

“I wasn’t a Horde traitor,” Bow responded. “But my _split personality was!_ ”

His laughter grew infinitely more maniacal, uproarious and boisterous in nature. Adora simply kept blinking, but Da’el clapped at his performance. “A bit heavy on the ham, but I’ll allow it. Not entirely unexpected, I confess.”

“My split personality compelled me to murder the Empress, but I covered it up! You fools! You’re not dealing with the average arbalest anymore! I am not merely Bow! I am Bow’s evil split personality, _Wob_!”

“Wob?” Glimmer asked.

“He’s improvising, give him a break,” T’ermoil said.

It was then that Bow produced a fake mustache, which he promptly attached to his face.

“Okay, he was prepared for this, actually,” T’ermoil said. “Like, shockingly so.”

Bow continued to laugh, laughing himself into submission. Soon, everyone was enraptured by the sheer insanity of his performance. He was certainly a kind of an actor, switching props promptly and explaining his entire plan in detail. Adora had to admit it was almost impressive how well he seemed to have prepared for this. Eventually, however, everyone left. Only Adora, Glimmer, and Bow remained, by Bow’s specific request. The library felt empty without them, and then Bow, face stained with fake blood as part of his astoundingly over-the-top performance, in which he had at one point quite literally twirled his mustache, which he had not yet removed, arrived at Light Hope’s terminal.

“Light Hope, can you pull up today’s footage?”

“Yes,” the hologram said, suddenly appearing in her jagged glory before the trio.

Then, they watched as the footage cut off seconds after they left the terminal. Bow nodded slowly. He turned around.

“I thought I could get footage, see who might be the traitor.”

“So we messed up?” Glimmer asked.

“Wait, more importantly,” Adora said. “Did you rig the system so you knew you’d be the murderer?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Bow said.

“What part did that have in the plan?”

Bow finally tore that stupid mustache from his face.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’ve just always really wanted to have a split personality.”

“You have problems, dude.”

“Right,” he said. “Anyways, I thought we could get some footage, to use as evidence. This would be a perfect opportunity for the traitor to do their work.”

“Why are we not involving Kyle then?”

Bow pointed to Adora. “Excellent point,” he said. “Because of this. As I’ve said before, I don’t see failure as an option. Even this is a victory, albeit a small one. The footage disappeared shortly after we left. In other words? One of the five people here did it. So, even with this, we’ve come away with new information.”

“So there’s only five suspects, three of which are us.”

“Precisely,” Bow said. “So, I’m saying not to trust anyone.”

“Yeah,” Glimmer said quietly, looking down at the floor.

“I’m gonna figure stuff out,” Bow said. “You two have fun.”

“Yeah,” Glimmer repeated as he walked off.

The arbalest gone, it was just Glimmer, Adora, and Light Hope. The two shut off the hologram, although Adora made plans to convene with her later. She deserved company.

The two sat down at a table, the copy of _Paradise_ remaining there. Glimmer sighed, and Adora looked at her. Glimmer rapped her fingers along the table.

“I’m going to have the throne,” she said. “No matter who’s in my way. We clear on that?”

“Crystal,” Adora said.

“Good,” Glimmer said. “So tell me, have you seen any evidence that Bow might be colluding with someone else? Especially the Empress?”

“He does visit her an awful lot,” Adora said.

“Nothing else though?” Glimmer asked.

Above them, disguised, their flesh appearing as wooden as the wall, they did not see them. Yet, there they remained. Da’el T’ermoil had not exited the room at all.

Oh, they had been there for ten years alright. A child pretending to be an adult, brilliant since their youth. They had only refined their craft, their shapeshifting incredible. They knew not their origins, but felt as though they needed not know them. Now, at twenty-two, they were ready to enact their plans.

At first, it had merely been a game. Drama! Gossip! Violence and cruelty, such a beautiful display of Etherians on their most passionate and debauched missions, the adult nobles training their children into weapons, but five years ago, things had changed. Which was to say, nothing had changed whatsoever. Now, they were getting paid for their work.

Oh, they had thought they had the spy fooled. They did not know, however, exactly what they dealt with. Tonight, they knew only the chef Da’el T’ermoil. Soon enough, they would know the threat they had never faced. Oh, theater was fun, but here, the drama was real and it was _raw_!

First act! Ten years of waiting, since mere childhood, since but twelve years of age! The rising tension, the flickering lights, stage transitions of growth, of character change! So too did they prepare, but after a while, it became tame. Dull. Oh, they did their best; they learned the gossip, but they came so close to leaving. The histrionics were all the same. They squabbled over territory, over kingdoms. They sought the approval of the cruel Empress and matriarch, and she wept in her chambers. Ah, it all grew trite.

Second act! Interest reinvigorated by the falling chandelier, the centerpiece spectacular! The arrival of two newcomers, one of whom takes up a sword! Backstories, and tragedy, as the swordswoman exiles her beloved only so as to save her. A struggle between the two, a fresh face. And with this drama came more interest than ever in the conflict. There was something so base about it, so juvenile in their war, a war they conducted just to fight one another. The chef was ecstatic at such a notion. Glimmer and Adora left the library at the same time, surely colluding on some topic.

The wheels were moving. Now to come was the third act. The Hegemony was playing games while the Horde was probably struggling to deal with an onset of new recruits. Everyone was so ready to make their move, to push for thrones, especially that of the Empress. They were searching for the traitor, yet they never sought to track down the ones beneath notice! The personality of the chef, tailor-made at but thirteen, one year after their arrival, backstory and all, disguised their identity. The actor became the audience, growing with the cast as they made their way from childhood to adulthood and doing the same. Their journey was a display of acute, picaresque majesty so brilliant and lengthy, their manipulations countless, and all in the name of the show.

To anyone paying attention, anyone familiar, their identity was so obvious to the deduction. They knew not if someone was watching, but they hoped so, for there was more to come. They knew that, while they perhaps did not have an audience present then, they were soon to succeed. This was their final move, rare and decisive in equal measure. A climactic event was approaching, and they would be there. Oh, they would be waiting in the wings no more, for it was now that they desired more than to simply be quietly traitorous. They had the knowledge. They had the skill. As though puppets on strings, they would play the Hegemonic Council against one another; so soon it would be, yet delayed so extensively. The time would come, and Da’el T’ermoil would abandon the mask they had worn in this vicious and exceptionally slow masquerade ball they danced. No more the delays. No more the build, the tension. The Council would fall apart, and one by one would leave the stage, until there was but one remaining, and at last would the spotlight shine upon its rightful owner.

At last, Double Trouble would steal the show!


	11. Stronger Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spotlight shines. The curtain is drawn back. The stagehand plots.
> 
> The twilight of the Hegemony begins. From it, a new day... or an eternal night.

“So, your knight attempts to take my queen.”

“Yes,” Bow said, clasping his hands over his mouth. “It seems that I’ve made an error in my move.”

“Which means you lose,” the Empress said.

“Not in the slightest,” Bow said. “Without errors, we never learn.”

With a movement of his pawn, he watched as all things fell into his hands. He had so quickly sacrificed his queen that the Empress never presumed his true goal. With his eyes narrowed, his teeth clenched, and an evil smile on his gorgeous face, Bow played the game.

“If you never make an error, you don’t know how to correct your strategy.”

The Empress focused on acquiring his king. Of course she did. That was her flaw; Netossa had taught him long ago to recognize these, but he had adapted past her own. He lacked the same competitive streak Netossa had, content to let the pieces move as they would, and to take advantage of them after. That was the best way to handle these things.

“Check,” the Empress said.

A move of his rook eliminated his opponent’s bishop, keeping his king from check.

“You’re at the top of your game tonight,” Bow said. “Still, as I was saying, if you don’t make an error, you don’t know what to look out for, what to correct. Being a good chess player isn’t about having the most elaborate plan. If you’ve got an elaborate plan, you can’t count on your opponent. Counting on your opponent is _very_ important in a strategy game. What you do is you adapt to their moves, always keep them guessing, and always prepare to try and get your opponent into a position where no matter what they do, you have an opportunity. And just as they assume you don’t care because you sacrificed your queen…”

Bow finished his pawn’s advance.

“You bring her back.”

Across the citadel of Bright Moon, Adora and Glimmer were sitting on Glimmer’s bed. The Princess and the savior alike were working tirelessly to plug holes in the kingdom’s market, holes created by the rioting of the citizens. While Adora would have preferred to deal with the situation with sword rather than pen, she supposed that there was honestly almost nothing she could do. After all, the Empress would not release her. There was a knocking on the door, and in entered the chef, Da’el T’ermoil. There was something different to their expression, the way they smiled calamitous yet calming.

“Your food,” they said, setting out two plates.

“Thank you,” Adora responded, knowing that they were among the five people suspected of being a traitor.

Five suspects. Herself, Bow, Glimmer, Kyle, and Da’el T’ermoil. They were all near Light Hope’s terminal when she stopped recording footage. Everything was gone from the moment they split up onward. So, in other words, it was one of them. Adora knew it wasn’t herself for the frankly obvious reason that she wasn’t a traitor; ergo, she had no incentive to disguise the identity of the traitor.

The truth was that she honestly had come to rather like Glimmer, but she had little doubt the woman could be the traitor. It would only make sense, after all, that she bore such wrath toward her mother. She understood not what ailed the Empress, only that the Empress despised her. Adora knew better, but she couldn’t muster half the sympathy for Angella that she could for Glimmer. Even she knew better than that.

“Da’el,” Glimmer said. “Sit with us for a while?”

“Oh, I’d love to,” Da’el said. “I’m afraid I can’t though. My duty in the kitchen calls.”

Glimmer snapped her fingers, teleporting to the door.

“No, really,” she said. “I insist.”

With that urging, the chef looked around the room. Agreeing to it, they took a seat on the floor. It was surely an attempt to avoid the presumption of nobility, for they were a mere commoner and had no desire to offend the nobles. Glimmer looked at them with curiosity astounding.

“Da’el,” she asked. “What do you know about Bow?”

Da’el looked at Glimmer. They turned away. If Adora didn’t know better, she would think the cook was concealing a smile.

“Well, he is the Empress’s greatest strategic advisor, a fact he keeps altogether quite secret. He spends late nights in her room, playing chess; that’s not a euphemism, mind, the two quite literally play chess. In addition, he’s demanded all secrets come through him. Bow is making his play soon, I’m sure of it.”

“I see,” Glimmer said. “I knew all these things about him, though. Do you have anything new?”

“For someone who loves to talk, he’s altogether too tight-lipped for me to extract information from him. I’d think you would know more than I, Glimmer; after all, he loves _you_ , does he not?”

Glimmer muttered something under her breath. Da’el rose to their feet and made their way to the door. This time, none prevented them from exiting. That left Adora and Glimmer alone with their food.

“It’s incredible,” Adora said. “I’ve been trying every food here. The Hegemony’s got so much good stuff.”

“Yeah,” Glimmer said. “All because of mom. She treats me like I’m still a kid. No. She treats me worse than she’d ever treat a kid. She’s all ‘my child’ this and ‘my child’ that. Everyone’s her child, everyone but me.”

“Hey, I had the same issue,” Adora said. “Shadow Weaver wanted so much out of me. She wanted me to manifest magic, to succeed her. I ended up giving her what she wanted, even if it was in the worst way possible.”

“I bet that was cathartic,” Glimmer said, ignoring her food completely, still at work, working away on a data pad, managing an entire kingdom at her very fingertips. With just a slight error in judgment, a misplaced number, she could crash the whole of the Hegemony. At times, Adora wondered how she managed it all; between the economics and Angella’s treatment of her, there were times she wondered if Glimmer was truly sane, or if it was a cracking mask, a slow descent into madness, its beginnings imminent and intimate at all times.

“Yeah,” Adora said. “It was pretty good. You ever wish you could do that to Angella?”

“All the time,” Glimmer said casually. “I wish I could depose her, but I can’t. Even if she believed she could die, I wouldn’t be heir. You might be heir, or Perfuma might, or even Frosta, just because she’d wanna see a thirteen-year-old take the throne for the fun of it. Everyone but me has a chance.”

“She just wants you around to cook her food, huh?” Adora asked. “That’s terrible. I can’t believe someone would do that to their own flesh and blood.”

“Not just _her_ flesh and blood,” Glimmer said, removing her boots. “Her husband’s too. I think that’s the problem. He was just a filthy commoner. When the Horde scum killed him, I think she didn’t even mind. She just wanted progeny, and unfortunately, it had to be filthy common blood, not ‘pure First Ones’ as she goes on about.”

“You think she didn’t care?” Adora asked, knowing that such a concept could not be further from the truth.

“I’m nothing,” Glimmer said. “Lowborn trash. Half-breed between her and some peasant mage.”

“He was the brother of the mage that runs Mystacor.”

Glimmer laughed. “You think Aunt Casta still runs Mystacor?”

Adora blinked. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, she tells everyone that Aunt Casta still runs Mystacor, it’s in the propaganda, it’s in the papers and on the crystals the populace has, but Aunt Casta disappeared years ago. Expressed sympathy for the monsters in the Horde, and Angella had her shipped off to Beast Island. Aunt Casta’s dead at best.”

Adora’s eyes widened.

“That’s insane,” she said. “I can barely believe it.”

“I saw it,” Glimmer said. “I believe it because I was there when she did it. I watched her give the order to exile the only remaining member of my father’s family. To get rid of the last trace of peasant blood that wasn’t me. It’s just a matter of time. She keeps me around for convenience. She just needs a way to get rid of me. A path out. The second she has that, well, she’ll do this.”

Glimmer snapped her fingers, and a blast of sparkles overtook the room. The funny thing was that Adora would almost have been convinced, if not for the fact she knew better. The Empress was mad, monstrous in character and paranoid, but for all her faults, she was all too human. She loved her daughter. She missed her husband.

None of it excused her actions, but Adora could not pretend she did not comprehend it. If Catra fell, she would surely go mad herself. Averting her thoughts from such deranged things, she wondered if perhaps there was a path out of this where she and Glimmer shared the throne. Marriage was not an option; even if Adora wanted to marry Glimmer, the crown princess was dedicated primarily to Bow. She played to her mother’s archetype perfectly, loving a mere peasant. Dedicated to him, devoted to him, and he in turn to her. It was as a lady and knight, a perfect pair if ever there were one, at least on the surface. No doubt they were fraught with their own problems, suffering as all did.

“You really think Angella doesn’t love you, huh? Not even a bit.”

“She’s never loved anyone but herself,” Glimmer said. “I don’t think she even thinks of others as people.”

Adora’s eyes widened. Her every emotion dimmed. If only Glimmer could have known the pain she suffered. The world upon her back, her every action answering to a being that could wipe out all that she loved if she did not do as he said. The pressure was incredible; while it by no means served as a justification for the actions of the Empress, it was unquestionably something that would alter the heir’s view of her mother.

“Glimmer, do you think we could be friends?” Adora asked.

“Friends?” Glimmer asked skeptically.

“Friends,” Adora said. “Like, do you think we could get along? Genuinely? Without schemes, without indecency or scandal. More than behind closed doors.”

“Maybe in another time,” Glimmer said. “Maybe in another place. There are no friends in the Hegemony, Adora.”

“That’s a shame,” Adora said. “Because I was starting to like you.”

“I can’t lie,” Glimmer responded. “I was starting to like you too.”

“Look, here’s the deal. I’m gonna blow the lid on this. I’m going for the throne.”

Glimmer turned to Adora, and sighed. There was a twinge of disappointment, of course, but little of the expected wrath, little of the rage she had demonstrated so easily before. It seemed Glimmer had learned to hone her own sense of anger, to keep it quiet as though she were a true leader. It was a valuable skill, the ability to keep your head. Still, Adora felt a chill as Glimmer stared her down.

“Thank you for your honesty,” Glimmer said. “I’m going to have it, though. It’s mine by right.”

“Everything’s about ‘right,’ but it’s never about _right_. Bloodlines, plots, greed, freedom. Not a thing in the Hegemony is motivated by good. It’s all driven by some outside force. There are people rioting on the streets below. Do you think there’s no reason for that? Your mother imprisoned half a city.”

“Don’t tell me about how bad the Hegemony is,” Glimmer snapped. “I’ve suffered it firsthand. What would you rather we do? Join the Horde? At least the Hegemony has a blueprint. That’s why we’re here, Adora. Nobody on the Hegemonic Council actually believes in the Hegemony. We all believe in what it could become.”

“Except what it could become is different for all of you. You all have a different vision for it, and you’d all tear each other apart to get it.”

“And what about you? You just admitted you’re going for the throne.”

“I don’t think we need conflict. I think we should find a way to both have the throne.”

“Marriage?” Glimmer asked. “Ironically, I’d say you’re above my station, being a master of the universe and all, not to mention gorgeous and kind. Besides, it’s not a possibility.”

“Isn’t there a way we could split the power?” Adora asked.

“Not a chance,” Glimmer said. “The laws of the Hegemony say that blood and marriage are the only way for someone to get their hands on the throne of the Hegemony.”

“Okay,” Adora said. “On the other hand, consider that the only person who makes the rules is the one on the throne. Angella never listens to her council and only listens to her advisors when they’re flattering her.”

“Advisor,” Glimmer said. “Let’s not pretend it’s not just Bow, talking into her ear. Let’s hope he’s on our side.”

“I thought you loved him.”

“I do,” Glimmer said. “There’s new things, though, new information. I’ve got questions about it.”

“Lot of new information nowadays,” Adora said. “Whispers. Doubt.”

“Doubt is a constant in our line of work. Bow’s the only person I can trust, and even he’s spotty. You, though. You just gave away your entire goal. A goal that could put us into conflict, and you just revealed it to me. Why?”

“Because we’re more effective together,” Adora said. “You, me, and Bow. I’ve got the brawn. You two have got the brains. Bow’s got the inventions, the strategy, the charm. You’ve got the numbers. You’ve got the insider info. You understand things. You’ve got royalty, which, no matter what Angella does, is like a free pass. We’re better together than we are apart.”

Then, a knock at the door. Adora instinctively reached to the golden bracer on her right wrist. The door opened, and there, before them, was Bow. He wore a white sleeveless shirt, his midriff bare, his hair slicked back unnaturally. As he walked past Glimmer’s bed, he ran his hand across her face, before approaching the dresser. He stripped his shirt and tossed it into a small laundry hamper as though it were nothing, before grabbing another. He then turned around, his eyes widening as he realized Adora was in the room as well.

“Oh,” he said. “Missed a perception check there. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Adora said, averting her gaze out of politeness. “I think I’ll live. Trust me, this is way less awkward than the Horde communal showers.”

“Communal showers,” Glimmer said. “Oh, Bow, do we still have that visit scheduled for the Mystacor hot springs?”

“Yeah,” Bow said. “I think we might have to postpone. We’ve got that thing.”

“Thing?” Adora asked. “What thing?”

“The thing,” Bow responded, pulling his shirt just over his abs. Upon realizing it covered them, he sighed and took it off again, looking for another one. Adora just wondered who exactly his tailor was. “We’ve got a thing.”

“The thing?” Glimmer asked.

Bow produced from another pouch on his belt a rose. It was fragrant, its scent divine. It was like a holy flower, its stalk topped off by red. The thorns across it, he avoided with great dexterity, his fingers crossing between them as he handed it over. Glimmer immediately poked herself on one, shaking her head as she dropped it and he dived, reaching his knees. He caught it, and presented it to her. He stared up at her, and she ran a hand through his hair. Then, she leaned in and sniffed his black hair.

“Nice pomade. Smells just like the rose,” she said, presenting the rose to Adora. Adora sniffed the rose, and felt as though she could recognize the scent. Still, nothing to do about it, she supposed.

“Right,” Bow said as he donned a blue shirt, this one properly cut so as to expose his abdomen. Collapsing onto the bed, he focused his eyes upon Glimmer in a stare Adora honestly thought was far too overwrought to be real.

“Oh, get a room, you two.”

“We have a room,” Bow said. “The only mitigating factor is that you’re in it too.”

“Okay,” Adora said after a moment of thinking. “Fair enough.”

“So,” Bow said. “You two studying again?”

“Yeah,” Glimmer said. “She’s getting a hang of handling the finances. I mean, we’re working slow.”

“Good,” Bow said. “I heard you two talking about how you’re stronger together?”

“How _we’re_ stronger together,” Adora said. “All three of us.”

“That’s a fair point,” Bow said. “I agree with the sentiment. The three of us could be allies. Our goals may conflict at points, but the conflicts in our goals don’t matter if we can’t achieve them in the first place. Better to work together and come into conflict after than to lose before we reach the finish line. Besides… I’m quite sure we can compromise. We’re diplomats, after all. Council members. It’d be stupid, even by our standards, if we didn’t work together. We share a goal, right? All three of us want to see the Empress fall.”

“Right,” Adora said.

“So let’s end this petty scheming. Let’s unite the Hegemonic Council. We find the traitor, out of the five suspects. We can deal with the five suspects, them being ourselves, Kyle, and Da’el, and then we can figure things out. Remember, the suspects are only the ones who were by the terminal just before its footage stopped recording. My key suspect is Da’el.”

“Why not me?” Adora asked. “I’m new.”

“Because you have no motive. No incentive. With what I can figure out, you’re the closest to an heir to the Hegemony, whereas Da’el is a humble chef who most likely has greater ambitions. I’ve called a meeting in two hours. Thought I should inform you two in person.”

“So, we’re having a meeting out of the blue?” Adora asked.

“Yes,” Bow said. “I’m going to present my findings to the council. We’re going to deduce the traitor’s identity. I’ve also called Da’el and Kyle to be there in person.”

Bow kissed Glimmer’s cheek and rose from the bed. He approached the window of the chamber, and pressed his hand to it. Then, behind his back, he clutched his hands firmly. Glimmer and Adora approached him. Adora took to his left side, and Glimmer to hers. Bow on her right, Glimmer on her left, she prepared.

“Stronger together,” she said.

They were indeed strong together. It was a question of how easily they could be parted. Forces were at work, agents of chaos and saboteurs in the wings; now it was time to bring an end to the traitor, to toss them in a cell. Bow pulled from one of his many pouches a small bracelet with a silver skull on it.

The Princess Hegemony was fragile, every alliance temporary. It took camaraderie to solve this problem. They would need to stand alongside one another, rather than allowing them to divide themselves, lest their empire topple and crumble in a storm of dust. The Horde grew in strength, as did Catra. The harder the fight was, the less people Adora could save. It was her goal to conquer the Hegemony and lead it to victory, to control its every move. She could not do that without Bow and Glimmer; Bow’s cunning astonished, and Glimmer’s bravery and passion were similarly admirable, not to mention her knack for kingdom management. This was not a pursuit which could be won alone, nor should she rule alone. Lord Hordak, Empress Angella, they all made errors in claiming sole control; it was in placation that the shrewdest of royals acted. Bow had shown it. He offered you his right hand as he pulled your strings with his left. It was in genuine alliance that success would come.

Perhaps Bow and Glimmer were exactly what she could use. Oh, with certainty, they knew not what they did. However, if she could convince them to let her have the throne, if she could deduce a line of logic that would appease Princess and consort alike, she could hand Etheria over to the First One as a gift which would please him so greatly he would perhaps spare people as Adora asked.

That was her flaw, her critical flaw. She had once thought the solution was the blade. Now she knew better. It was the olive branch. The saner people among the Hegemony needed not even be manipulated. They needed only to be offered exactly what they wanted. As Bow himself had said, it was the exact sort of lateral thinking he had dreamed of.

This was how wars were won. Not through foes but through alliances. Through not betrayal but brilliance would Adora claim victory. First, however, they had to deal with the traitor.

United stood the three.

**~Hegemony~**

Shadow Weaver tended to a set of daisies in the corner of the Fright Zone’s greenhouse. She ran a black-nailed hand over her mask, the temptation to gouge out her own illusory eyes overtaking her. There was something brewing, a greater force. She could discern it from amongst the darkness.

Into the greenhouse walked Catra, clad in a black coat as though she were Lord Hordak himself. The coat trailed down to her very ankles, and upon her wrist was a black bracer. Contained within the bracer appeared to be a whip.

“What is it now, Force Commander?” she asked.

“Well, Shadow Weaver, Lord Hordak wants your input on a situation with a missing set of armor requisitioned by a new recruit. The culprit’s been caught, but he wants your help passing a sentence. He thinks Beast Island is too harsh and a week’s cleaning duty is too light.”

“Tell him I recommend restricting their diet to ration bars for a month. Ever since we accrued trade with Dryl, the people of the Horde have glutted themselves on whatever they please.”

“All except him,” Catra says.

“He is a fool,” Shadow Weaver said. “I made him some tea and cakes last week. He rejected the treat on the basis that it may be poisoned.”

“Was it?” Catra asked.

Shadow Weaver’s eyes flickered to the daisies, and then back to Catra.

“Force Commander Catra, return to Lord Hordak at once.”

“He wanted to touch base with you personally.”

Shadow Weaver looked at her.

“Last time he wanted to ‘touch base with me personally,’ it did not go so well. That was the tea and cakes incident, you understand.”

“So you’d send me in your place as a sacrifice. Sounds to me like you’re scared of him.”

“He wields power over us. It is only logical to be wary of him.”

“Not me,” Catra said. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“You ought to be,” Shadow Weaver said, approaching Catra. “Do not overestimate yourself because of your rank, Force Commander. To Lord Hordak, you are a tool. You will be used. When the time comes, he will dispose of you. He has grown more subtle. More pragmatic. Do not be mistaken, however; whatever he has convinced you he thinks, remember that it is he who takes children, who turns them to weapons, to tools. Lord Hordak is not some fatherly figure. He is a hypocrite, a devil; he indoctrinates and twists. He turns you apart from inside out, and it is all to use you. Every last moment of trust he shows you, every last second of it is a facade. He will caress your face, get on his knees for you. His new tactic. He placates you. Do not trust that serpentine tongue of his.”

“Wow,” Catra said. “Do you ever pipe down?”

Shadow Weaver looked at her, and gave her a glare. Catra simply raised her middle finger. Shadow Weaver recoiled as though some mighty ward had been cast against her. She stumbled over her feet, and felt a pang of pain, a sting throughout her body. Catra rushed to her, taking her hand. The sorcerer batted the young commander away reflexively, scratching her nails across Catra’s face. Catra hissed in response, and turned away, leaving Shadow Weaver there. Why had Catra been so charitable in this moment and not in others?

Catra had fallen under Lord Hordak’s sway. That had to be it; Shadow Weaver had not thought her so easily deceived. Her mind was keen, keener than that even of the sorcerer herself. Now, if even Catra were tricked by Lord Hordak, it spoke volumes of how he had risen. She recalled how he had been when she first arrived. He had been a lonely man, his sole true allies robots. He had only recently taken his kingdom properly, in only a few months having crushed all rebellion.

Lord Hordak had at the time been but an animal. Feral. He had wanton desires left unsated. He now needed food, rest. As though he had fallen from a place where his very life was managed for him, he was reliant on the sorcerer. The Horde was, at the time, a place without order; bloody greed filled the streets, its recruits criminals. It was not an organized rebellion, but a legion of brigands and whores, seeking only money and freedom. The lawless wastes of the Fright Zone, once a proud kingdom, were what Shadow Weaver had stumbled upon, and she understood that she was no longer a dignified sorcerer of Mystacor. Among the first things she heard upon entrance to the Fright Zone was a man offering her zydrate for half the price she could get it in the Crimson Wastes. After the prompt extermination of the dealer, she arrived at Horror Hall, where machines built more machines into a work force of glowing red eyes.

Then, she saw him. His eyes a fearsome red. His face was snarling, his movements erratic. It was as though he had not slept; his dress was torn enough to expose most of his scarred yet muscled form, soon to decay, and he had run the Fright Zone’s coffers dry already, barely maintaining the money to pay recruits. When he had seen her, he was vulnerable. He needed discipline. He needed organization. He needed not military aid but that of one who knew magic. There were flaming compulsions within him that he had never before known, for his very feelings were regulated. When he had seen her, it was like an oasis in a desert, the aid he so desired, yet he thought it a mirage. She offered her power to him freely, and he lunged toward her in hopes of tearing her to shreds, so great was his paranoia. She could hardly hold his swiping claws at bay.

She knew him well. Better than any other did, other than perhaps Princess Entrapta. She had been at his side, yet never had he come to trust her. How was this? She knew not. She had been there since the beginning, at his side since the very dawn of his empire. The two combined their minds and built the Fright Zone from a mess to a colossal force. He owed her everything, and yet even as he offered the new recruits money to join, money acquired through trade with his beloved Princess, even as Lord Hordak became more and more of a power unto himself, he did not give the sorcerer her due!

That would be his greatest error. Since he was so adamant not to repay the loyalty she had shown him early on, she would repay him in kind. As Catra turned to leave, having blathered on about something insignificant, perhaps about Shadow Weaver’s rightful successor, the She-Ra, she grabbed Catra’s wrist. Catra’s eyes widened, and she instinctively shielded her face from Shadow Weaver, a small tear in her eye. The sorcerer snarled, and then let her go. Such cowardice, she did not expect from a Force Commander of the Horde.

“We are allies,” she said, brushing her hand across Catra’s face. “Do not forget that while he may not love you, I do. You are among my greatest works, Catra. We will bring despair to the fallen one, and you will eventually come into ruling the Horde.”

Catra smiled. “Right,” she said. “We’re allies. And, you know, I really do think I might end up in charge around here.”

With that, she left. Shadow Weaver, bemused by the entire encounter, went back to tending to her daisies. Lord Hordak would suffer the punishment he deserved for the way he used his own people. For all he made such valiant claims of being a brilliant warlord, he was nothing compared to Shadow Weaver. He was a lonely man sitting in a sanctum, with none who would come to his aid when the time came to slash his throat. All she needed was for Catra to play her part.

Then, of course, she would do the sordid deed of eliminating Catra; she could not afford a threat to her power once she had control. Besides, Catra was an uppity brat since the very beginning. Yet, the very thought churned her stomach. What was this feeling, she wondered? Any conscience she had was eliminated, torn from her damaged body and rotted heart by the Spell of Obtainment.

It was that damned spell that had done this to her! If she could be at fault, she would have been corrupted long ago. Now, however, she felt as though tendrils reached for her every night. She saw King Micah in her dreams, yet felt not a bit of his incredible, tremendous power. Every night, though, she dreamed of her very flesh flayed by him, of his hands channeling the power of the Spell. When she awoke, she always found that it was but a dream. She did not recall sending the tendrils to ensnare him, yet nonetheless tendrils had. It could not be any mage, for the Spell of Obtainment had so scarred and damaged her, mind and body alike, having corrupted her very core. How was it that she had consumed him without knowing or without taking his power?

It was the nature of the Spell of Obtainment, of course; it was pure ambition, without components beyond evil and and gorging upon power. It was lust, greed, envy; it was the longing to consume, to stomp upon the success of others as though piling bodies into a staircase. It was not that none without the spell could employ its attributes, but that it forced those attributes even upon those who were pure, such as the one once known as Light Spinner.

Her beloved Casta had watched, she recalled. They were not too old at the time, young women preparing to serve the Hegemony together. The Horde was only a nuisance, but they asked more of her. They craved for every fiber of her being to ascend, they desired for her to gain more power, and so she did, sacrificing herself in the process. Then, when she met their idea of beauty no more, they turned away from her.

In the throne room, Hordak skulked, preparing his next move. Double Trouble, the greatest of his spies, had neared discovery. They were one beneath notice for so long, but he should have predicted their eccentric flair would get them caught, smart as they were. They would surely find their way out of the situation, but they would slip from the grasp of each side. Fortunately, he had contingencies; he had learned since this campaign was at its dawn that having a contingency was the only path to victory.

It was then that Lonnie and Rogelio, the two cadets who had been manipulated and abandoned at the comms tower, entered the throne room. Lord Hordak looked to them, and their hands. They each had a data pad, one from Admiral Scurvy and the other from Force Captain Octavia. Both of the two had been discharged rather than reintegrated into the ranks; he adored them, and he decided to give them kind lives in the neutrality of Dryl, where the Princess would have them live in comparative luxury.

In addition, he had made a new edict as of yesterday. Children would no longer be taught solely war. They would be taught domestic crafts as well. Were the war to end, he did not wish for his young soldiers to be stunted, knowing only violence. It was not the nature of Etherians to be as he was, weapons trained solely for combat. In addition, he would be giving all loot from any Hegemonic property to his troops; while he thought looting was frankly distasteful, he also recognized that his warriors needed compensation, lest they perhaps be slaves themselves. Protection was not pay enough for his soldiers, and he was remiss not to know such things initially. Still, he supposed what he did now would simply have to do.

Now it seemed his reign would come to an end soon. He had to remind himself not to get overconfident. Clasping his hands and sitting upon his throne, ceasing his pacing, he beckoned the two cadets.

“Why not have robots deliver these, Lord Hordak?” Lonnie asked. “I know you prefer to meet through the video screen.”

Lord Hordak chuckled. “Because the both of you have been promoted to Force Captain. With Catra’s recent ascent to Force Commander, I thought it only right that the two of you take her place. After all, you have both done excellent work for me.”

“Lord Hordak, I’ve gotta be honest,” Lonnie said. “I don’t see how we’ve done anything so great. We committed insubordination, let Huntara, a valuable asset, die, and we lost Kyle, the traitor.”

“All of which were minor failures on an otherwise good record. I am not going to hold your failures against you when your successes have all been fortuitous. Besides, I reward ambition greatly, and your insubordination was driven by logical ambition. I should have disclosed the mission in the first place, but I feared for Kyle. It has come to my attention that he has been communicating with the Hegemony for longer than I ever suspected.”

“He was always a traitor?” Lonnie asked.

Lord Hordak nodded. “I am afraid he was never suited to be imperative in my plans, as important as he was.”

“Lord Hordak, what was his part in your plan?”

Lord Hordak merely smiled. Lonnie shuddered. That felt wrong, somehow, to see the warlord grin with such audacity.

“That is for me alone to know, and for you to ponder. Go. Treat yourselves to a feast in the mess hall. Do not grow complacent, however; we are still facing the Hegemony. Remember, all that is in that mess hall, all of it is ours. Every speck of dust in the Fright Zone belongs to us.”

Then, Imp landed upon his cybernetic hand. With his organic one, Hordak began stroking the cherubic creature’s head. It curled up, nuzzling in his hand.

“Someday, Etheria will as well.”

“Yes, Lord Hordak,” Lonnie said.

It was then that Rogelio spoke to Lord Hordak in Reptilyazyk once more. The overlord smiled at what he said, and did the same. Rogelio smiled as well, and Lonnie looked between the two.

“What were you two saying?” Lonnie asked as Rogelio left.

“Rogelio was telling me that some of his kin, some of the recent reptilian escapees of the mines, have contacted him in an attempt to join the Horde. Our robotic army has grown vastly as well. We could take on perhaps an entire kingdom.”

“Yeah,” Lonnie said. “One of many. What makes you think we have a chance?”

“In all honesty, the Hegemony has crippled itself. That is the only reason the Fright Zone even remains. The Empress desires to watch us suffer. If they proceeded to all-out assault now, my shield would not hold. We would be in their mines right now. Such a fragile war, one that comes almost solely from the arrogance and undue overconfidence of the foe.”

“Okay,” Lonnie said. “So we’re doomed.”

“Not if I can complete my projects in time.”

“What projects? You gonna build a Colossus? Because that’s the only way I see us winning.”

“Two projects,” he said. “Two primary secret projects remain. First among them is for combat. The second will bring us reinforcements, should it work. To ensure efficiency, however, I must survey a location in the Whispering Woods. Bring my message to Catra. Tell her that I am leaving the Fright Zone. I will not go directly with a speeder. I will go cloaked under cover of night, and I will make my way to my destination. Tell her that until I return, and if I do not, she is in charge of the Horde.”

“Sir, that’s bound to bring chaos.”

“No,” he said. “It is a test of her abilities.”

“Lord Hordak,” Lonnie said. “You can’t be considering _Catra_ as your successor.”

“Perhaps I am, Force Captain.”

“She’s got a laundry list of issues.”

“I lead, yet I have far less potential than the Force Commander. I recognize some level of brilliance when I see it, or I believe so at least.”

“You’re not exactly a great leader either,” Lonnie said. “You indoctrinate us from youth. You teach us to fight, and you act like we’re disposable. The only cost of death is a nice spot on that memorial wall of yours. It’s the only thing that even implies you’ve got a heart beneath that armor. You treat us like cogs in a machine. ”

“I have my sins to answer for,” he said. “Many, beginning with my very name. Still, it is my hope that I will have done at least one good thing in my sordid life. I will destroy the Hegemony.”

“And what’s next? The entire world under your quite literally iron-fisted rule?”

Imp yowled at Lonnie. She stepped back. “Well,” she said. “I suppose that’s a decent counterargument. Thanks for your input, Imp. Lord Hordak, you once said that you accept critiques of your leadership. So, here’s this one: You’re evil. Evil is by its very nature untrustworthy and treacherous. I’ve seen the plans you make. I’ve seen the automated cities you would craft if you could. Is there any reason you wouldn’t have us work in the mines yourself?”

“Because robots are much more efficient?” he asked.

“That’s the thing with you. It’s always about effectiveness. Potential. Reason. Logic. You don’t even understand _morality_ , do you? Empathy?”

“You ask for irrelevant things. I am a man of war, Force Captain. I do not need those things.”

“Any good ruler needs those things,” Lonnie said. “If you win, we’ll go from oppressed by the Hegemony to oppressed by the Horde. Force fed propaganda from birth, eating ration bars, acting as parts of the whole. One day, the freedoms you fight for, the sole cause people rally to your army for, you’ll take that away too. The streets will run with red-eyed machines hunting down those you despise, everyone slowly but surely smiling so as to avoid incurring your wrath. You’re already bad, but winning would make you so much worse. I’m not blind, Lord Hordak. I see your future. A future where everyone glows with the same eyes, speaks with the same voice.”

Lord Hordak paused. He scratched Imp’s chin gently. He looked aside, almost contemplative.

“I understand all that you say,” he said. “Where I came from, my paradise, we were not permitted so much as names or facial expression in the name of efficiency and safety. We never had to worry about animalistic tendencies, the most base of things, juvenile emotions. I can see the reluctance an Etherian would have to accept such ideals, even watered down into a form more easily viewed. However, I do not see where this line of critique benefits me.”

“You really have changed,” Lonnie said. “A month ago you would’ve probably suffocated me for just suggesting this. Are you growing a conscience or something?”

“Quite probably,” Lord Hordak said. “In the end, the conflict between Horde and Hegemony is not ‘good versus evil,’ as much as we would like it to be. It is a dictator against a different dictator.”

“And that’s the problem,” Lonnie said. “It was part of why Kyle defected. I’m not gonna downplay my own place in it, but your rule is harsh. It makes good soldiers, but it doesn’t make good people. While it’s true that you’re not as bad as Angella, that’s a very low bar to clear. You’ve got your own dystopian ideals. They’re just different.”

“I see,” he said. “Is that all?”

“All due respect, I wasn’t scared of you until I thought we might actually win. Now I kind of dread the thought,” Lonnie said.

“Interesting,” he said, petting Imp’s head. “I repeat my query.”

“Thank you for the promotion. Go to hell, Lord Hordak.”

Hordak chuckled mirthlessly as Lonnie turned away.

**~Hegemony~**

There were fundamental forces in the universe, ones that could not change. That was what Queen Angella knew. These forces were obedience, charity, and nobility. The three virtues of the First Ones, the people who had once upon a time descended and granted the winged woman immortality and a title of power alike. Their divinity was astounding, and their leader arrived in a mighty chariot of gold, led by winged horses, a blue robe over his body. He bestowed upon young Angella the power to never age once she reached a certain point in her life, to be eternal as he was. At his side stood a woman clad in black and violet, a thorned helm across her head and a sword on her hip. She saw him only through a portal, and was granted her power through that portal; he could not come any closer, and worse, the Horde’s machinations corrupted the very roots of Etheria, their invasion destroying any hope that he could return soon.

It was but a day before a battle which all knew would be fateful, although few knew how fateful it would be. Were the royals looking back from the future, they would know that tomorrow’s battle would bring the demise of King Micah. Today, however, they stood upon the balcony of the Empress, overlooking their beautiful city. Their own personal paradise, handcrafted. King Micah wrapped his arms around Angella, and she felt an incredible safety, a safety beyond comprehension. Micah was her world, her anchor. He had opened her eyes not to what the Hegemony was, but what it could be.

“Darling,” he said, holding her tight.

“Micah,” she said, giggling.

“Have you considered my proposal?”

“I believe I will free the mines,” she said. “They do not deserve imprisonment their whole lives for perceived treason.”

“What of the First Ones?”

Angella turned to him. “What of them?” she asked. “They can wait my entire immortal life for all I care.”

Micah looked down. “I will die, you know. I may as well already be gone.”

“I will give up my immortality for you,” she said.

“Eternal life, the greatest gift of it all, and you would sacrifice it for me? For a commoner of low birth and no worth?”

“Micah, you are worth everything to me. I would give away my immortality, for eternity without you would bring more pain than I could bear. I would find a way to grow old with you, to live a normal life with you and… with the baby. Our baby. Glimmer. We will win the war.”

“Or even better, we will find peace.”

Angella smiled. “Peace. I would settle for that.”

“Tomorrow will be a bloody affair. Let us hope both sides walk out of it with the knowledge that this war is pointless, fought over nothing but disagreements. War is not the solution. The solution is reparation and repayment. We will fix the flaws in the First Ones’ vision.”

Angella pressed a hand to Micah’s cheek. “Thank you,” she said. “For opening my eyes.”

Micah chuckled, and took her hand in his. “Well, you always were the smarter one between us. Let’s not forget I was tricked into the Spell of Obtainment.”

“You are far from the first or the last to be tempted by its power, sweet Micah.”

“So we will have peace?” Micah asked.

“Peace,” Angella repeated, a single tear flowing down her face. “Peace. For our child.”

“Why do you cry, my queen?” Micah asked.

“You are so beautiful,” she said. “I wish to treasure every last moment I can spend with you, Micah.”

“I love you,” Micah said.

“I love you,” Angella said, returning the feeling.

The Queen’s chambers were filled with perfumes and riches beyond compare, their very floors a shining golden surface. Yet the only thing that was shining to the two lovers was one another. How sappy such things were. Sentimental nonsense, nothing more.

Micah began to cry as well, although he knew not why. He cried only because his beloved cried, for their pain, they shared. They stood upon the precipice of a happy ending arriving at last, of a life, a mind changed. Tomorrow, King Micah thought that he would bring about true change. Deep down, he thought Angella was good; he believed in a world altered to its very foundation, building on the dreams the Hegemony supposedly professed.

It was not to be.

**~Hegemony~**

The doors of the Hegemonic Council hall locked, Da’el placing the key against their hip. Everyone was present, every member there in person, taking their seats as Bow stood before them. Da’el, as always, served food. There was something to them today, something peculiar; they were no longer performative. Adora raised an eyebrow, seeing the prime suspect, the most likely traitor. The chef flashed Adora a brief and conniving smile, and Adora took her seat, all too uneasy. Glimmer sat next to her, and Kyle pulled up a stool.

It was then that Adora noticed Sea Hawk. In place of his left hand, a hook. Huh. It seemed Catra had been truly ruthless in her aggression toward him. Actually, having seen the footage, it occurred that Sea Hawk had both hands. Unless the footage had been somehow doctored, then Catra hadn’t taken the appendage at all.

Well, now Adora had lost her appetite. Still, as she unearthed the plate, she curiously dug into the greens, shoveling them into her mouth reluctantly. Mermista, on the other hand, seemed to be in decent enough condition. Sea Hawk was also clad in a blue shirt, one with short sleeves. It was not like his typical sailor attire. His left eye had a large bruise on it, but overall, he seemed alright otherwise. In fact, he made bold exclamations and merriment about his new limb. It was safe to say he was not too broken up about it; it took someone either incredibly bold or utterly stupid to jest about such a calamitous thing. Adora decided he was the latter when he started picking food from his plate using the hook and eating it.

It was most fortunate that the Empress was not here. Still, the idea that she would go to such lengths, on some level, disturbed the savior of Etheria. What had been done to her, what corruption had overtaken the Empress, so that she could justify these stomach-churning, vile deeds? She had lost her husband and been forced into a life of deception, the very foundation of her war a lie. Behind the mask of queen, behind the power she held in her hands, there was something broken. Shattered glass.

Adora clenched her fist. Everyone had a sob story. They all had tragedy; that tragedy had never once justified the evils they did. The only reason to do something evil was to prevent further evil, the only justification for one’s deeds purity and heroism. It was the ruination of the Empress that she had come to delight in the violence, that she lived and stood tall in bloodshed and evil. Adora knew that there were sacrifices that had to be made, that there were means justified by ends, but she also knew that murder, torture, such things were errors people made. If they came to see them as solutions rather than mistakes, then they crossed a line from which there was perhaps no return. Adora would not be the judge of what was evil and what was good, for it was not her place, but she knew what she herself saw, and that she would never for a moment allow herself to slip into being akin to the Empress solely for power and thrill. Being She-Ra was power and thrill enough, in honesty.

The Princesses were tense today. They were sitting with their backs straight, making little remarks at one another. Glimmer in particular had her hand twitching with anxiety, sparkling ever so slightly every so often. Her eyes moved around the table, focusing on Bow in particular as though there were something infinitely untrustworthy about him. Mermista had a death glare focused on Glimmer, Perfuma did the same; they were a mess, and Adora couldn’t help but wonder why. They had all gotten along in the murder mystery.

“Da’el,” Bow said. “Pleased to have you here.”

“I’m here every day,” the chef said, their eyes flickering around the room. There was a wicked glint in those eyes of theirs. They seemed to flicker between colors. Adora felt a slight churning in her stomach, and for a brief moment she noticed Bow’s silver skull bracelet. It looked a lot like the one on the Empress’s neck, something the savior had only just noticed.

“So,” Da’el said. “I assume there’s a reason you’ve invited us here. It’s to examine who the traitor is, isn’t it? Allow me to pose a question. What is the relevance of a traitor? After all, we all know we want the Empress gone. Not one of us has ever cared before, but one little, scary note, and we go mad. Oh, let’s be honest; we were always mad. Every one of us, always mad.”

“Irrelevant,” Netossa said coldly. Spinnerella placed her hand gently upon her wife’s shoulder. The two shared a look of everlasting love, and Mermista rolled her eyes. “You two are gross,” she said.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Netossa exclaimed. “Some of us actually _marry_ the people we love instead of keeping them at arm’s length.”

“Oh,” Mermista said. “So we’re going there now. Didn’t think we’d go so personal so quick, but I suppose that’s just what happens. Sorry I don’t keep a collection of everyone’s weaknesses, because I’m not paranoid like you.”

“It’s not paranoia if it’s justified,” Netossa snapped. Spinnerella reached out a hand, and Netossa looked to her. Sea Hawk in turn approached Mermista, and then Netossa turned to Adora. She pointed a finger toward her.

“You gave us away to the Empress,” Netossa said. “It wasn’t enough to have her everlasting favor. You just decided you needed more. I had your type down from day one.”

Kyle looked between them frantically. Adora laughed off the accusation. The result of pure paranoia, competitiveness, most assuredly. She couldn’t possibly have told Netossa any such thing, as she had hardly interacted with the Princess.

“Perfuma told me,” Netossa said.

Perfuma immediately shook her head. So, she had told her nothing of the sort. She signed to Adora, who did not understand even a word of it. “I don’t know ESL,” she said. Perfuma pointed to Bow, then to Adora. Then, she signed something. Bow looked at her. “I didn’t teach Adora anything,” he said.

“So that’s it!” Netossa said. “A chain of denials. This is what we’re like, just denying everything the second things get tough?”

“You’re so perfectionist it makes you paranoid,” Frosta said.

“Oh, like you’re any better,” Spinnerella said. “Admit it. The comm tower incident was deliberate sabotage.”

“Yeah,” Mermista said. “You’re going for my kingdom, aren’t you? Let the Horde have some more territory, wait for it, let things go your way and then swoop in and ‘save’ my people?”

“I’m not gonna pretend I haven’t thought about it,” Frosta said.

Suffice it to say, the situation had escalated.

“Are you kidding me?” Adora asked when Netossa pointed toward her. Glimmer stood at Adora’s side in an instant. Bow simply watched from the sidelines.

“Bow, get over here,” Glimmer said. “We’re going to defend our new ally.”

“Sorry,” Bow said. “I’m not getting riled up about this.” He took a white pill from the skull in the bracelet, and consumed it, swallowing it with a glass of water. Kyle began to shake.

“You’re all completely _insane_!” Kyle exclaimed. “It didn’t even take you a minute to reduce yourselves to this! And you claim to be better compared to the Horde? At least the Horde try to stab each other in the front. At least they’re honest about being liars!”

“Come on,” Adora said. “We’re not that bad.”

“You get to be an exception, Adora. You’re my friend.”

“Bow, come over here,” Glimmer commanded.

Netossa’s hand lit up with hard light. Suddenly, every glass of water was empty. Mermista had formed what little liquid was in the room into her personal weapon. Frosta’s hands were glowing white, and in an instant, Glimmer’s hands crackled and sparkled. Bow looked at Da’el, who shrugged. “Sorry,” they said. “It was just a question.”

“Bow, get over here. Don’t forget that while I’m your girlfriend, I’m also a Princess. You do as I command.”

Bow stood shocked for a moment. Then, he slammed his hand upon the table. Da’el looked at him, and smiled widely for just a fraction of a second. Adora was about to reach for her, when she saw Netossa rise from her seat. Netossa stared at her, her brow furrowed, her eyes cold, as though they sliced Adora open.

“You’ve never used the Princess card before,” Bow said quietly. “Never.”

“Because I didn’t need to!” Glimmer exclaimed.

“Do not _insult_ my beloved Mermista!” Sea Hawk exclaimed, drawing his sword. “I am a man of great honor, Princess Frosta, but I will duel you no matter your age!”

“Yeah?” Frosta asked. “I’ll punch you in the face!”

“Oh, I do hope those gauntlets of ice can withstand the fury of my _flame_!” Sea Hawk yelled boisterously, unveiling a lighter which Mermista then took from him with enormous speed.

“Everyone shut up,” Glimmer said. “ _Shut up_! As Crown Princess of Etheria, I command it!”

“Like that’s ever been relevant,” Mermista said. “Like that title _means_ anything.”

Glimmer’s hands lit up further. “I’ve beaten you before,” the heir said. “If I have to, I’ll do it again.”

“I won’t hold back,” Mermista said. “Not this time. Oh, we all lost because of your mom.”

“Ha! Why bother?” Glimmer asked. “My mother never loved me! That’s what’s really the thing here, isn’t it? You’re mocking me because I didn’t have a caring mother like you?”

“My mom is _dead_!” Mermista exclaimed.

“Oh,” Glimmer said. “I’m sorry.” The words were genuine, but they came out hostile, Mermista taking notice and scowling. “Bow,” Glimmer commanded. “Over here. Now.”

“No,” Bow said. “No, no, no. This isn’t right. This is all wrong. Let’s all sit down and talk it out.”

Da’el chuckled as they lounged on the table. “Dinner and a show, I see,” they said as the room descended into chaos.

First to strike was Spinnerella, defending Netossa from the perceived threat of Adora. She leapt forth, and aimed a kick toward Adora’s face. Adora narrowly dodged. The room became a mess. The table broke thanks to a punch courtesy of Adora as Glimmer flickered around the room at a rapid pace. She was precise and coordinated, determined and resplendent. It was as though she danced around every combatant. Sea Hawk and Mermista fought side by side, fending off every foe. Bow was nonchalant and analytical, not fighting but paying attention to the ensuing chaos. Adora herself, meanwhile, countered a punch from Perfuma, who seemed offended. They signed something, but she didn’t understand it. Suddenly, powers became unleashed all around the room, currents of water tracing across the sky, blasts of energy throughout the air, lighting everything up. Ice trailed across the wall and window as a houseplant’s very roots grew courtesy of Perfuma, and the flower’s bud became a carnivorous maw. Adora tore its head off with a pull of her right hand, which seemed to send Perfuma into further rage. “Power of Miro!” she exclaimed, and in a burst of blinding light, she turned into the hero’s form, the Sword of Power golden in her hand.

The entire room paused and stared at her. Adora gave the blade a twirl. “We’re going to calm down and talk things out,” she said. “Or I’m going to calm you all down by force.”

“Truce,” Netossa said among the staring crowd, gawking at such a display of bravado. “A truce until the She-Ra goes down.”

“Wait,” Adora said, realizing things had not transpired as she had expected. “Wait, that’s not--”

The entire room was focused on her, charging toward Adora, all seeking to take the golden tiara from her head and the Empress’s approval alongside it. The chaos was brutal, quick; among the fray, she watched as the entire room unleashed their power, hardly caring for one another. They were a mess, torn apart. Glimmer’s hair was a mess as she charged. Mermista’s liquid projectiles darted across the room, smashing into the locked doors. She-Ra herself was winded dozens of times. The focus of the foes was too much for her, and she watched as Netossa pulled the Sword of Power from her hands. Glimmer teleported in front of her, and aimed a blast, only to be tackled down by Bow. He had come to rescue her, as a spike of ice then slammed into Adora’s shoulder, one which could have killed Glimmer.

Adora tore the projectile from her shoulder, and saw Frosta, eyes wide; she had not expected her attack to strike. She had made an error in using lethal force. It was then that Adora endured a blow from Sea Hawk’s sword, which caused her body to run with electrical shock. She stumbled, and then was met by a kick from Spinnerella, and a sweep of her legs. Toppling, she smashed into the table’s debris. As she made it to her feet, she saw double; Glimmer seemed to be at her side, preparing to strike, yet on the other side of the room, she stood as well, blurry. The nearer Glimmer launched a blast toward Frosta, knocking her into the wall. So easily had they shattered completely, their bonds broken and their minds descending into complete discord. Then it occurred; it was the thing none thought would happen. Amidst the chaos, Kyle was slammed into the door, and suddenly he was the target of the room’s rage, so pointless it was that it could be redirected toward anyone.

Netossa kneed him in the abdomen. Frosta punched him in the face. Spinnerella, for good measure, kicked him in the face. Just as it seemed it was over, he rose again, and stood before the crowd of Princesses again. Mermista kept Sea Hawk from charging in. Glimmer paused, and then wrapped her arms around Bow. His eyes widened, and he watched as Kyle fell to his knees as the others stopped.

They all stared at him. Completely normal. Not even like Bow, not even a warrior. He was just an innocent young man, caught in the chaos of their battle. Their movements slowed as they paid attention to what they were doing.

Netossa spoke. “We’re better than this,” she said. “We’re all stressed, and someone’s deceived us into this course. We’re cool, calm, considerate people. Yeah, we’ve all got our ambitions, but if things go insane, if we all descend like we just did, if we tear ourselves apart, then we’re playing into the Horde’s hands. We’re better than this.”

They all stopped. They looked amongst themselves, and Adora felt herself try to get to her feet. It was then that she spotted them; a green-skinned being, with golden eyes and a thin, acrobatic form. They stood atop the sole remaining piece of the council table, and took a bow. Adora pointed to them, and they stood.

“Bra _vi_ ,” they said, taking the bow even more dramatically, soaking up the attention of the entire room. “You gave me quite the performance! Now _this_ is what I come to the Hegemony for!” Unfortunately, you made a critical error. You’re right. You’re better than this. This mindless chaos. This violence, this division. I suppose we can all say we learned a lesson today… but this is one that’ll stick with you.”

“Who are you?” Adora asked.

Their every feature shifted at once into blue, then to the shape of Kyle. Then, they were suddenly Glimmer, running a hand through their pink, fluffy hair.

“Oh, this is nice,” they said. “I could live with this kind of hair forever.”

“I asked you a question,” Adora said as her vision began to blur. The other Princesses began to stumble, their bodies lagging. Was it the beating they had taken? No, Adora’s stomach ached. They had been poisoned, she was quite sure of it. The Princesses began to reach their knees, clutching their stomachs. Surely, the power of She-Ra had shielded her from this, but between the exertion of the fight and what had to be the massive potency of the poison, a tranquilizer designed to knock them all unconscious, Adora was fading fast. The others collapsed.

“I have an answer,” the shapeshifter said. “I am every one of you, and none. I am the richest debutante and the poorest beggar. I am a trickster and a spy, a hero and a brigand. A knight and a beast. I stand before you, coming to the stage for the first time in ten years of disguised, invisible life, Double Trouble!”

Only after they were done with their grand entrance did the spy realize the entire Hegemonic Council was now unconscious, lying on the floor. Good. So the poison slipped into their food had done its work. Now it was just to make their deft escape and return to the Horde. They would be paid handsomely for their work, although the reward would not be quite as handsome as they were, and they would escape to the Crimson Wastes. Now came the time, the toll of the metaphorical bell which beckoned Double Trouble to their ship, to their escape.

Then Bow’s hand twitched.

Had they gotten the dosage wrong? No. They realized a second too late what exactly was occurring. The skull bracelet. The pill he had taken. Bow had been prepared. He had taken an antidote. Ah, so it seemed Double Trouble was a tad predictable. Unfortunate; they would simply have to amend that error.

“Impressive,” they said. “I knew you were smart, but I honestly expected this more of Glimmer than of you. It appears your intelligence matches your beauty.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Bow said. “Unfortunately, flattery isn’t gonna get you anywhere. We can talk this out.”

“No,” Double Trouble said. “I’ve seen the Hegemony’s methods of ‘talking things out.’ Look at your little friend Sea Hawk over there.”

“Well,” Bow said. “You’re going to change your tune when we’re done, I’m sure of it.”

“Sorry, darling, but I’ve a performance due in the Fright Zone. I suppose we will require a rain check.”

“I didn’t want to do this,” Bow said.

Double Trouble leapt over Bow’s head with little effort. Deftly plunging the key into the lock of the doors, the shapeshifter burst them open, disappearing into the hallway quicker than Bow could keep up. They took the guise of Princess Glimmer, and commanded the servants to block Bow’s advance. The servants pounced at him, but he weaved through, advancing, catching up quickly. Double Trouble decided a more direct approach was needed, so they stole a set of plates from a servant. Racing across the hall, they recalled one of the few places they could reach in this labyrinthine palace without a map. At last, they arrived in the kitchen. The geodites turned on them, but they fell with a snap of their fingers. While they were no mage, even they had their own magical failsafes. Now, the kitchen ran with dozens of ovens burning nothing whatsoever, spoons and spatulas scattered across the tile floor. Double Trouble, without switching forms, disappeared.

When Bow arrived into the kitchen, he began turning off every machine. He knew better than to conduct a fight in such a risky place. He turned off the burners, the ovens, the sinks, everything he could. He sought the one who took the appearance of Glimmer, his beloved Glimmer. He never for a moment ceased to be cold, looking around the kitchen in a search that felt as though it went on forever, hoping to find the traitor.

Finally, he arrived, and saw them, standing before him, taking the form of Glimmer. There was hesitation as Bow took a small knife from a nearby cutting board. The traitor raised their hands in surrender. “Parley, arbalest, parley.”

“I just want to talk to you,” Bow said.

“I’ll listen happily,” Double Trouble responded. “Might provide some comments.”

The traitor, still talented as a chef was, turned on an open oven and with great immediacy began preparing a small meal for themself. They offered Bow food, although Bow did not accept; he didn’t seem very hungry, which Double Trouble supposed made perfect sense. Bow kept the knife in his hand the entire time, making it quite clear exactly who was in control. Of course, that was what _he_ thought.

“So, what is this?” the shapeshifter asked at last. “What’re we going to talk about?”

“Well, I think we should start with something fun. First Ones theater. There’s this melodrama that the Empress is a huge fan of called _Eternia Triumphant_. It focuses on a prince and a warrior, Prince Adam and his beloved Teela. Are you at all familiar with it?”

“I’ve got a passing familiarity, mainly because Angella puts it on every year. It’s trite, honestly. We all know how it ends, or at least, we lovers of culture do. Adam becomes a violent murderer and insurrectionist, steals the Sword of Power, and Teela is forced to put him down to save the First Ones. Tragic.”

“And almost true,” Bow said. “With Light Hope’s personal logs, I’ve conducted a minor investigation into it and its historical connotations. It’s embellished, of course, made to favor one side, but it’s a spot of special interest for me. Anyways, I’m not a big fan of it; I’ve gotta agree that it’s trite.”

Double Trouble poured themself a glass of wine to go with their food. The personal fixation of the Empress, taken from her chambers in the guise of Bow and stored in an unsuspecting cabinet in the kitchen, specifically in case of a day like this. A lesser person would have come up with some elaborate backup plan involving it. Double Trouble, however, just wanted to drink some wine.

“Is that stolen from the Empress?” Bow asked.

“Of course it is,” Double Trouble said. “I’m committing other crimes. I mean, I poisoned your entire council. Do you think I’m above acquiring some drink for myself?”

“I don’t really care,” Bow said. “I’m not a wine person myself. Or a whiskey person. Actually, I don’t drink. Dulls the mind. Plus, Glimmer hates the stuff. Makes her puke after only a couple sips.”

“Well, she’s simply got a weak constitution when it comes to holding her liquor. As for dulling the mind, it’s never happened to me. I suppose you probably just do it wrong, darling.”

“Well, actually, your species _can’t_ get drunk.”

“My… species?” Double Trouble asked, raising a thin blonde eyebrow.

“I found in Light Hope’s files that you are a descendant, obviously with some mixed blood from Etherians, of an ancient race that once traded on Etheria. Now, there’s very few shapeshifters remaining. Part of your biological reconstruction capability means you simply cannot get drunk. You can get buzzed at most, and that’s about ninety drinks in.”

“Huh,” the shapeshifter said. “Well, that’s disappointing. Guess there’s no drinking my sorrows away. Interesting little fun fact, though. You’ve studied.”

“I always had my suspicions,” Bow said. “Reports of people doing things they hadn’t done. Angella mentioned visits to her chambers I hadn’t made, usually taking some of her wine. I knew it couldn’t have been that I simply forgot when she mentioned I had my abs covered.”

Double Trouble laughed. “Yes, that makes some sense.”

“So, here’s the deal. I’m prepared to give you a full pardon. No responsibility, absolve you of every crime you’ve committed. I can get it under the Empress’s nose.”

“I don’t get it,” the shapeshifter said. “You do all this behind the scenes. If you craved power, you could just marry Princess Glimmer. That could be it, but instead, you always scheme, always plot. In my ten years of being here, that’s something I’ve never understood. By the way, don’t bother questioning me about the Horde. Lord Hordak pays me and I report to him, that’s the extent of our relationship. I don’t know any more about them than you do.”

“Unfortunate,” Bow said. “Even then, I’ve got a few ideas. Now that I’ve got confirmation that you’re a shapeshifter, I think you can do me a favor. A big favor. In fact, you’re the missing piece of a puzzle.”

“Question,” the traitor said. “I never wrote the note. Am I to take it that you did?”

“Yes,” Bow said. “It’s a part of the plan, a big part. Can you copy handwriting?”

“Yes,” Double Trouble said. “It helps me get into character.”

“Good,” Bow said. “Good. I really think you’re gonna like this plan. All you’ve gotta do is do what you do best, and then you get to go free.”

“I mean, I’ll bite out of curiosity. Let me assure you, however, if I wanted to be free, I would be.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second. Still, we should talk quietly. Never know whether there’s prying ears, and this is the big play. The masterstroke.”

Bow grazed his left cheek with the knife. “Why are you doing that?” Double Trouble asked.

“Make it look like there was a fight for when I take you in.”

“You are aware makeup exists, right?”

Bow smirked, and then took from a pouch on his belt a small white roll of bandages. Bandaging his face, he smiled. “So you’re gonna take me in?” the shapeshifter asked. “I don’t love this idea.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Bow said. “You’re gonna change your tune right away.” The arbalest leaned in close.

It was then that he whispered in the actor’s ear. At once, they felt their entire world heighten. They listened to his every honeyed word, and their very being ascended. They raised their hands with delight, and smiled. Now, _this_. Oh, they had known Bow was not a healthy man, but this was beyond what even they had surmised. This was beyond simply salacious, petty gossip like they had known before; it was scandalous, outright atrocious, even! A series of dominoes falling, the taken queen! Oh, they had thought it in the final act, yet they could feel their very spine tingle with anticipation, for the game stretched further than they could have ever predicted. This brought upon the shapeshifter such a desire, such a longing to act it out that they agreed to it without a second thought, its bloody beauty fresh in their mind. It was simply sick, yet so brilliant all the same. It was that which they defined the peak of wonderful villainy with, on the precipice between maddening and majestic, vile and deranged, yet altogether simply _fabulous_. The execution of the plan would be perfect.

More importantly, however, _her_ execution would be perfect too. The shapeshifter would be sure of that. Oh, yes, _quite_ sure.

Back in the council hall, the Princesses were reunited, at least temporarily. The first declaration any of them made was that they would have this incident stricken from any record and speak of it to none, so as to avoid an international incident. It was frankly embarrassing and an affront to their otherwise solid management of the Hegemony. It was a series of errors brought about almost entirely by simple stress, and that was that. It would suffice. Their injuries would be written off as having come due to accidents and battles with the Horde, and their squabble would be forgotten.

Glimmer took the head of the table, which was repaired in under a day by geodites and mages working in conjunction. She sat at it. The Empress didn’t even notice the incident, being busy in her chamber, much to everyone’s relief. Kyle was currently resting in Adora’s arms, sobbing onto her shoulder. She herself had healed, but not everyone had such powers. Kyle’s wounds were still fresh, and his thin body had hardly been able to take the damage he had received. Adora had attempted to heal him, but she found that she could do no such thing. She would need to work on that.

“We made a massive error,” Glimmer said. “Netossa was right when she said we’re better than this. We got played. Look at us. We’re Princesses, sitting in the bastion of culture, of a union inimitable and undeniable. We descended into fighting so easily. Adora told me something earlier today. She said we’re stronger together. She was right. If we keep fighting, if we split apart, then divided we will _fall_! But if we work together, if we stand against the Horde, we can turn the Hegemony into a place worth living in. We are royals. We are nobles. We are heroes. We are the Hegemonic Council of Etheria! You got a grievance? I’ve got a lot of grievances. Save it for after the war. We’re stronger together or we’re nothing apart. Take your pick.”

Netossa approached Glimmer, and offered her hand. “I’m with you,” she said. “Ergokineas doesn’t secede until the war is won.” Then, Mermista, Sea Hawk trailing behind her. Frosta followed, and, after shaking hands with the sailor who had threatened to duel her in the chaotic argument, she placed her hand atop Glimmer’s as well. “I’m with you,” the child said. Spinnerella joined them. Adora gently moved Kyle aside, wiping the tears from his face. Bow had caught the traitor. With none to whisper mendacities into their ears, they would do quite well. The Princesses all pressed their hands into the circle, and began to glow with power most awesome; for a moment, they were united.

Adora approached, and placed her right hand, golden bracer still on her forearm, atop the pile. They were united. They stood as one. Through the chaos and violence, they had come together. The Horde was forming a bigger army? That was fine. They were Princesses, each an army unto themself. They had machines, and they had a brilliant tactician at their head, but now the Hegemonic Council would match them in unity. Conviction and alliance were the traits which led the Horde to their countless victories, but if they now faced a foe which shared those traits, they would falter.

“Stand together, Princesses,” Bow said, entering the room, a bandage across his left cheek, stained red. “We’ve got a war to win.”

Glimmer chuckled at that. “Were you waiting outside just so you could come in with that?”

“Maybe,” Bow admitted. “Maybe.”

Well, united as they were, it seemed some things never changed, such as Bow’s penchant for the dramatic. All that said, Adora’s expression grew sour when she remembered how Kyle had writhed and groaned in pain. Their wounds were mended, but the bandages were temporary. In time, it would all fall apart. It was a matter of keeping them together until they could fall apart properly. Perhaps there was a purpose to the Empress after all; they may all have hated her, but they were united in hatred of her. Without her, and without the Horde, the kingdoms would find war with one another. That, Adora grew quite sure of. It was hectic.

Also, they needed a new chef, hopefully one that wasn’t secretly a shapeshifter. One that was _openly_ a shapeshifter, maybe. They would see about that.

They left the room at the same time, splitting up. They would all have affairs to tend to. They would have to increase security, repress any news on the matter among the people, as servants had surely heard the skirmish. Adora immediately approached Kyle, who was limping to the infirmary, and wrapped his arm around her back. He looked to her through a blackened eye, and Adora spotted Sea Hawk, looking at the hook which had replaced his hand. There was something in his expression that indicated it was a thousand times more painful than he would admit. Not the wound itself, although that certainly had its price, but the knowledge that never again would he hold Mermista with both hands, that never again would he steer a ship without feeling cold metal against the wheel. Such a terrible thing to lose, a hand; he began to shake as he walked away, his boisterous personality lightening up the room again when he reached Mermista.

If they were to make the Hegemony somewhere pleasant, it would take a lot of work. Still, they would have to work together for now. Eventually, Adora would claim power, hopefully with minimal conflict. Still, she would crush all opposition; that was certain.

“I’m sorry,” Kyle said. “It’s… my fault.”

“Kyle, it’s not your fault,” Adora said. “It’s okay. They were stressed. They broke down. It’s lives of stress, of pressure, of running kingdoms and dealing with Angella. You’re not at fault.”

Kyle looked at Adora, shaking and shivering. She pressed a hand to his forehead, and finally saw a glow. For a moment, she thought that she would heal him. Then, however, she realized that his skin was descending into a worse pallor than before. She immediately pulled her hand away. So the power of She-Ra took rather than gave? It sapped away life rather than returned it? Adora clenched her fist. That was not something she could abide by. It was tempting in that very moment to cast aside the Sword of Power, but then she remembered Catra, Etheria, how it would all be torn apart. They _needed_ her.

Kyle coughed and sputtered, and Adora watched as he finally managed to catch his breath, his skin returning to a typical shade. He looked at her with an expression of betrayal, and she looked away in shame. A harsh reminder that, worshipped as she was in Etheria, the She-Ra was a weapon of the First Ones and little more.

“I’m gonna get you to the infirmary,” Adora said.

Kyle started coughing, and looked to the floor. Adora pressed on. Even the weakest among them, she would save, no matter what she had to do in order to ensure victory. “C’mon,” Adora said. “We’re gonna save Etheria together.”

As though she could be so sure of that.

**~Hegemony~**

“You’re kidding me,” Catra said. “You’re leaving?”

Lord Hordak turned to her. “I am leaving you in charge of the Fright Zone. If you must, ask for assistance from Scorpia; she will be very helpful, I believe. I advise distributing Gerald Cobalt’s works to some of the troops as well. While he did leave us for the Hegemony, he has also written a controversial piece, which Shadow Weaver ordered ninety copies of. It is, according to one Hegemony critic, who managed to acquire a copy before the Empress ordered them all put to the pyre, ‘less the tract of a republican seeking to reform the government into a democracy, more of an anarchist calling for regicide.’ You know how the Horde feels about regicide, of course.”

Catra looked at him. She turned aside. How was it that she would have betrayed this man once? Was Shadow Weaver perhaps correct that he had manipulated her, that he had schemed and connived his way through her head, preparing her until he pulled her on strings like a puppet? The sorcerer, for all her faults, was quite smart indeed.

“Lord Hordak… why?”

Lord Hordak blinked at her. “I have left Imp with you,” he said. “He will be your ears for now.”

“Why?” Catra asked again.

“I do not understand your question,” Hordak said.

“Why have you become so fond of me? Why am I your heir? Why not Lonnie? Why not Shadow Weaver? Why not someone else, anyone who isn’t a wreck?”

“I explained the logic behind my decision when I first told you of it.”

“Well, it’s not good logic. Lord Hordak, with all due respect, I’m not fit for leadership.”

“The coming days will test that,” the warlord said. “I have faith in you, and if that faith is mistaken, I will choose someone else. Unless your failure is truly incredible and complete in nature, I will not punish you.”

“I still don’t get it. What’s your game?”

“Game?” Hordak asked.

“You always have a game. People like you always have some secret, hidden goal. They never wear their intentions on their sleeve like you do.”

“I would not say I ‘wear my intentions on my sleeve,’ as it is, Force Commander. It is this distrust which I feel such regret for. The worldview I have imposed on my subjects is so cynical that they feel they cannot trust, but lies are needed in such dire times. I have failed to properly compromise in this regard. You, more than any, would understand, being a thief of the streets.”

“What is it?” Catra asked. “In the end, all of it? What’s the end goal?”

Hordak turned away. “I will summon the armada of Prime. He shall reward us for our deeds. Then, we shall rise into the stars, and we shall head his fleet. You shall most likely be given Etheria as reward for your deeds, and will be able to reunite with your beloved Adora, although I do not know how that encounter will play out.”

“You’re insane,” Catra said. “After all this, that’s it? No big secret? No shocking revelation? Your big plan is to summon the man who abandoned you and take over the world in the hopes you’ll be rewarded?”

Hordak looked at his organic palm, the one remaining. He then looked to his cybernetic arm. He clenched both fists, and looked onward toward the pinkish hue of dusk.

“ _We_ will be rewarded,” he said. “I merely need this journey to confirm what I believe. Consider it a crisis of faith, as it were; I have had my doubts recently, and I seek to find what remains of my people in the Whispering Woods. I shall convene with their ghosts. Do you think you can manage the task of leadership?”

Another test of honesty, this one not masked whatsoever. At last, Catra spoke. “No,” she said. “I don’t.”

“I see,” Lord Hordak said. “I will have Scorpia and Shadow Weaver assume joint leadership. I dearly hope you manage to keep Scorpia’s ambitions in check.”

Catra stared at him. “Was that sarcasm?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” Lord Hordak said with a slight smirk.

“I don’t like it. It’s weird. Unnatural.”

“I burn down villages, but you consider my _sarcasm_ unnatural?”

“Fair point,” Catra said.

The two stood in silence as Lord Hordak approached the barrier. If all went well, he would be back soon. Still, Catra couldn’t help but feel as though this were goodbye, as though she would never again view his face. She felt as though he would be among the ghosts in the Whispering Woods by the end of his pilgrimage, no longer there. Was she prepared to assume command if he was gone for good? She was his chosen successor, and Scorpia and Shadow Weaver were a temporary solution to leadership, not proper rulers.

She kept quiet about it. “Later, Hordak,” she said, trying to remain aloof, even as her voice cracked slightly.

Hordak turned to her, and approached. “You don’t need to tell me,” Catra said. “You’re gonna say ‘goodbye, Force Commander.’ Right?”

Hordak instead gently looked down, and then kneeled, reaching eye level with the much shorter Force Commander. He smiled warmly at her, and suddenly, she felt as though everything in the world was genuine. It was a feeling not unlike that of the way she felt when Adora smiled, albeit familial rather than romantic; he shook his head, and spoke the last words he said before he exited the barrier, before the beginning of what Catra could not help but feel would be his final pilgrimage.

“Farewell, little sister.”


End file.
